Raw Elements: Fire
by ThatSassyCaptain
Summary: The Enterprise is called out to an emergency in a remote system. Kirk has his suspicions, but could the stakes be higher than anyone suspects? When thorough planning is useless, there's nothing left but quick wits to save the day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey there! I've been working long and hard on the Raw Elements "sequel". When I say sequel, I mean thematic sequel. I'm afraid to touch anything from ICE because I'll ruin it. But anyway. This is it, right here. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the product of 4 months of procrastination. **

FIRE

"What's our bearing, Mr. Chekov?"

"We are rapidly approaching the Hephasten system, Keptin. Estimated arrival time is 3.2 hours, sir!"

"Thank you Mr. Chekov." Captain Kirk sat back in his chair. The obscure little system in the outlying regions of the Beta Quadrant (The _Enterprise_ had been careful to give the Romulan and Klingon empires a wide berth) had captured Starfleet's attention. Before the _Enterprise_ had been sent to investigate, the Federation had paid little attention to the largely unexplored system. Starfleet was especially wary of the close proximity of the Hephasten system to the Neutral Zone, and wished to avoid all possible conflicts with the surrounding (a word here meaning easily irritable or excitable) empires.

That was before the little scientific vessel picked up a transmission.

The Vulcan ship _T'Vaan_ was scheduled to dock at a nearby Starbase to deposit samples and research from a large cloud of what turned out to be an alcoholic substance (naturally formed, oddly enough), when they picked up a transmission. The message was coded, but not in any code a civilization had used for centuries. _It was Morse_. The _T'Vaan_ had quickly deciphered the message by running the whole thing through their computers with exact Vulcan accuracy. The original message was sent off to Starfleet HQ:

_Save Our System—The saying we employ;_

_We find the problem increases by day_

_Hephasten we are, a people quite large._

_We require aid at the best speed. Please_

_Send help to remedy the disaster._

_Here, it is our people's darkest hour._

Needless to say, Starfleet had been intrigued by the Hephasten plea for help, far away and rather recluse as they were. The _Enterprise_ was ordered out with all dispatch to investigate the crisis in the quiet system with all haste.

Captain Kirk surveyed the bridge once again. He was getting a bit restless. Kirk had been on the bridge for several hours, and unsettling feeling creeping further into his conscious thought with every passing moment. None of this seemed wholly right. His suspicions had been aroused once he'd learned of the communications in _Morse code._ It was common knowledge that the Terran civilizations had used Morse code for secret messages or distress signals. _Heck_, Kirk thought, _It's in all the history books at the Academy. I'm sure there's not a civilization acquainted with the Federation that _hasn't_ heard of it._ But, the nagging doubt remained. Despite all of his efforts to emulate his First Officer and _logically_ assuage his fears, Kirk was still on his guard.

As strange as the method of delivery was, the message itself was even stranger. The Vulcans had done a perfect job decoding the message- a simple enough code to crack, if the key had been public knowledge for centuries- but apart from the request for aid it made no sense. "A melodramatic load of nonsense," the good Doctor McCoy had called it. Kirk was starting to believe him. If this was a trap, it was hardly a clever one. _Drawing us in with talk of disaster only to spring… What? This could be a genuine distress call. _Kirk thought. _How many cultures have we encountered with customs that differed vastly from our own? For all we know, this could be the Hephasten epitome of brevity and distress! _ Either way, he was duty-bound to answer the distress call, no matter how unusual.

Captain Kirk had expected both possible outcomes, and made provisions for them. Doctor McCoy's team in Sickbay was prepping for survivors and the injured, while his Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott was tuning up the weapons systems and running diagnostics on the hitch in the turbolift. _Why not check on Scotty, see that everything's going smoothly?_ He pressed a button on the arm of the chair to initiate communications.

"Bridge to Engineering."

"This is Engineering. Scott here."

"How are things running down there, Scotty?"

Kirk heard a clanging noise followed by un-muffled shouts from the Chief Engineer warning that he would "shove ye out the nearest airlock, Crowley, so help me…! Get yersleves under control before I have to come mop up that mess with your- Johnston! Get away from there, bloody idiot!"

The Captain choked back his laughter. Scotty had his hands full, apparently.

"Sorry 'bout that, sir. I've just about got the lifts under control. Phasers are at full power, and the photon torpedoes are ready when you are."

Kirk blinked. "_Full power to the phasers_? Scotty, wasn't it just an hour ago that we had a power failure?"

"Aye, sir," his CE replied, "That and a malfunction with the Shuttle Bay doors- fixed 'em up nicely- and the Artificial Gravity was off in Deck 3, but I took care o' that, along with the static in the internal communications an' the misaligned locking system on the external inertial dampener. I'm sorry sir, but it's been such a busy morning, I haven't got around to fixin' those sticky doors in the rec room. If we could just—Stop muckin' about, Lieutenant! I've got half a mind t' come down there and rearrange yer- Ahem. Sorry 'bout that sir. Like I was sayin'… I would've been able to get to that earlier-

Kirk decided to cut him off before any of the Engineering Team got too out of hand. "Thank you, Scotty. You're a miracle worker! The sticky doors can definitely take a backseat to… to whatever it is you have going on down there. Excellent work, Kirk out!"

Both men signed off, and Kirk sank back into his chair. _Scotty just might be the cleverest man on the _Enterprise. _Maybe just as quick as…_

"Mr. Spock. What kind of Intel do we have on Hepheste I?" Kirk addressed his question directly to his First Officer, swiveling him his chair to face the Vulcan.

Spock immediately retrieved the data from the computer. "Of the two research teams Starfleet has sent to Hepheste I since its admission into the Federation, one conducted geological research and the other a brief cultural analysis."

"Thank you, Spock. What did the geological team find?"

"Initial scans of the planet confirmed Class M status," Spock continued, "as well as atmospheric conditions similar to those of Vulcan. The presence of multiple active volcanoes on the surface limits the amount and location of populated land. Starfleet's meteorology team also documented sandstorms of considerable magnitude that occur periodically in the lands between Hephaste I's three major mountain ranges."

Kirk pondered the information. He had read over the Federation reports already, but with a focus on inter-planetary politics and technological advancement. Apparently, Hephaste I had no major allies, no prominent trade agreements, and little interest in technology past warp-basics. _For all this time, they've seemed to be content just keeping to themselves. I wonder what's brought on this sudden need for outside aid? Is this disaster really so severe that an otherwise self-sufficient planet requires a whole starship for the relief effort?_ Kirk's mind traveled back to darker and more distant times, when 'self-sufficient planets' had been overrun by disaster in a matter of hours. He though of one particular instance when the continued desire for isolation and a ruler's insistence on retaining power had made matters worse. _Sometimes, that only escalates the problem. We should be glad Hephaste called on us for help- that lets us know they're still able to do so._

Breaking his train of thought, Kirk turned to face his First Officer once again. "You said something about sandstorms Mr. Spock?"

"Indeed, Captain. Hepheste I has a dry climate and ideal atmospheric conditions for sandstorm development. The reports indicate that the severity of the storms can vary- some are quite moderate by Terran standards, but others are strong enough to rival the sand fires of Vulcan."

Kirk's eyes widened at the mention of the sand fires. If Spock felt it necessary to draw _that_ comparison, then these sandstorms were no laughing matter. The fact that the Vulcan chose to mention them in the first place assured Kirk that on Hephaste, atmospheric disturbances of the like were serious indeed.

"Alright, Spock. We'll need to have the relief crews equipped to handle whatever Hephaste decides to throw at us. Also, is there any specific cultural information that you believe could be useful?"

Spock glanced back at the computer. He had gone over the reports already, and his acute Vulcan memory could remember nearly every detail exactly. But, Spock knew that his ability for computer-speed recall and recap could put the human members of his crew on edge. _One grouchy Southern doctor, for example._ The secondary glance was made out of courtesy. Without really looking at the screen, Spock answered his Captain.

"The cultural study was brief, but thorough. It appears that the Hephastens, who refer to their collective as the _Hephats_, live and work within large clan groups run by a matriarch or patriarch. The clan groups are close- the cultural survey reported that an offense to one could incite the entire clan- and should be regarded carefully. Another report indicates mercantile trade as their favored occupation. Successful merchants are highly regarded members of Hephasten society. The report goes continues in detail about the significance of meteorological patterns in the rituals of-"

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I think that's enough to begin with. Once we've identified the nature and extent of the emergency, we can start working on the more… intricate aspects of Hephasten culture."

"Very well, Captain." Spock replied, returning his attention to the system's charts. Kirk swiveled his chair back around so he was facing the viewscreen. Somewhere, just beyond the _Enterprise's _ immediate sensor range, Hephaste I was waiting for them.

/*\\\

**A/N: How was that? Please tell me if I've made a horrendous gaff, or misspelled something (my computer doesn't have spell-check, isn't that weird?) because I probably did. You can never be too careful about "I before E except after C" or whatever. Forget grammar.**

**Anybody up for a round of spot the Tarsus? I'm not going to allude to it (much) any more though, scout's honor.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oh my gosh guys. I am SO sorry about the debacle with the 'Destroyed Expectations' chapters getting put up by mistake. That's what I get for trying to manage two stories at once, I guess. So, I'm posting Chapter 2 early as an apology. Sorry again. HERE IT IS FOR REAL.**

Sickbay had finished buzzing with activity. Nurses who had been working through multiple shifts to get the relief supplies in order were going off-duty by the dozen, now that the work was done. As the hustle and bustle died down, thankfully, so did the noise. The newly acquired silence was sweet music to Doctor McCoy's ears. He eased himself into a chair, letting his elbows and then his head come to rest on the desk in front of him. _At this point, who cares? Some hoity-toity admiral could walk in this second and I wouldn't budge an inch._ The desk was a cool relief and sharp contrast to the warm atmosphere of the Sickbay. With so many bodies coming, going, and staying, it was a wonder that the temperature hadn't gone up farther. He'd need to do something about the heat eventually. _But right now? I could just about hibernate._

Any illusions McCoy had about sleep were shattered by the all-too-loud _whoosh_ of the doors. He lifted his head to see none other than Montgomery Scott strolling inside. _Huh. Usually he doesn't come anywhere near here unless under orders, on a stretcher, or looking to have a drink._ McCoy pushed himself up from his semi-comfortable position behind the desk. Scotty smiled and made his way over.

"Good t' see you, Doctor McCoy! How's the early shift been treating you?"

The doctor decided to go the polite route and just glower. "Oh, same-old same-old. Everyone runnin' around like chickens with their heads cut off until about fifteen minutes ago. What can I do for you, Scotty?"

The Chief Engineer smiled sheepishly and raised his arm. For the first time since his interrupted nap, McCoy took a good look at Scotty, his doctor's instincts kicking in. The man was run down. Scotty had dark circles under his eyes, barely disguised by the smile. He was looking pale, too, paler than usual. _Lack of sleep, long shift, exhaustion setting in soon, if it hasn't already. He's likely been working himself into the ground, the idiot._ Pausing in his general medical deductions, McCoy refocused his attention to Scotty's arm, which was being supported by the other at the wrist.

"It's my arm, Doctor. Strained it a bit pullin' down so many maintenance hatches. Careless young ensigns… leavin' 'em open all the time… You never know when something could overheat, or if there's an electrical failure and-"

"Alright, alright. Come over here and let me take a good look at it." McCoy led Scotty to a vacant bio-bed and reached for his medical tricorder. 'A good look' constituted a proper scan, and McCoy soon had his results. "Hmm. Looks like you've strained it pretty good. Not quite a _sprain_ according to the little black box, but I'm gonna give it a good-ol'-fashioned once over just to be sure. It's the little things like this that can be real tricky if improperly treated."

McCoy held out his hand, and Scotty offered back his arm. Being especially gentle, McCoy tested the muscle groups and little joints in Scotty's wrist and forearm. Then, just for the medicinal heck of it, he performed a secondary scan with the tricorder.

"Well, in my official medical opinion, I say you've got a nasty strain. Not a sprain, but pretty close. I can give you a hypo of painkiller, just to be on the safe side, but it's nothing a little bio-brace and a few days light work won't fix right up."

Scotty took back his arm and smiled again. "Thank you, Doctor. But erm… how long did you say I'd be wearin' the brace for?"

Prepared for the objection, McCoy fired the prescription right back. "Two days, maybe three, depending on how well you can follow my orders." He cracked a smile at this last bit. Scotty was a stickler for the rules, always keeping his boys in line and maintaining the highest safety awareness scores of any department. _It figures, what with him and his little red shirts bein' knocked this way and that all the time. Heck, if I had to worry about so many things exploding in my Sickbay, I'd cram safety courses like I give hypos... Or at least the way Jim Kirk thinks I give hypos._

"Oh! If that's all! Heh. If you'd 'ave told me that three days ago, I'd've put up a proper fight, Doctor. With all these preparations for the Hephasten mission, we've been running those very same circles in Engineering, heads-cut-off and all."

McCoy chuckled. "I know what you're getting' at, Scotty. You and your boys work harder than anybody on this ship, except maybe Spock's gang, but I think that's just 'cause they're scared witless of dropping efficiency. I know I'd be, if I had that pointy-eared hobgoblin breathin' down my neck through three shifts, all the while tryin' to perform the chemistry equivalent of brain surgery. But, I sure appreciate the hours y'all have been putting in. I know it's taken a load off Jim. Haven't seen him this relaxed just before a mission in a while."

"I know just what you mean, Doctor. But I can't say I'll be upset with your diagnosis. A bit of a break will do us all some good."

McCoy nodded and started to the supply cabinet for a bio-brace. "Maybe try and get some sleep before we hit the system. I think Spock's got it charted to… 8 hours to arrival? Aha! Here you go." McCoy affixed the brace and shook Scotty's good hand. "Be seeing you around, Scotty."

"Aye, you too. Good luck, whatever it is we're lookin' at here."

"Thanks, Scotty."

He watched as the Chief Engineer left. _Scotty really does need that sleep_, he mused. _Goodness knows we're bein' run into the ground, what with the Hephasten crisis so short after that botched diplomatic affair…_

McCoy glanced around his near-empty Sickbay. Some nurses were packaging the last of the multi-vitamin hypos in temperature-controlled containers. M'Benga stood in the corner, stretching out his back. McCoy called out to him.

"Hey, M'Benga, why don't you take a break? Things're pretty quiet hereabouts, and according to Spock we've got about 8 hours or so to arrival."

M'Benga smiled but shook his head. "No thanks, McCoy. I've only been working the last two shifts. Nurse Chapel just finished telling me you've been working nearly _four._ Why don't you take a break?"

McCoy had to grin. _Dang it, Chapel, I was gonna break my own record. _"Well, if _Nurse Chapel_ says it's time for a break, then I better hop to it. She's sneakier than me with a hypospray, and twice as fast. If anyone needs anything, I'll be in my office taking a power nap. But, don't hesitate to wake me if there's an emergency. M'Benga?"

M'Benga nodded. "Will do, McCoy. Although, if I hear working instead of snoring in there, I might have to take it over your head."

McCoy threw his hands in the air in mock surrender. "Heaven forbid you should call Chapel down for a little 'ol thing like that. You wouldn't really sic her on me before a big aid mission, would you?"

"M'Benga won't have to, Doctor."

McCoy whirled around to find Nurse Chapel smirking right behind him.

"Chapel! You've got to stop hanging around that blasted Vulcan! 'Seems his sneakiness is contagious."

"Well, I'd have to be pretty quiet if I wanted to sneak up on you, Len. You're wound tighter than a… a… Got a good metaphor, Doc?"

McCoy snorted. "Yeah, I'm wound tighter than this conspiratorial noose you 'n M'Benga have wrapped around my neck! If you're both so keen on getting' me to rest, then let me get on with it!" He brushed past Chapel, stomping his way to the office. Before the door shut, he called out over his shoulder. "If I catch anybody doin' any more sneakin' around, I'll start spikin' the coffee. That's an oath."

"Hippocratic?" M'Benga questioned cheekily.

"No, Hypocrite-ic. I _already_ spike the coffee."

With that, the door slid closed, leaving the Sickbay to chuckle quietly under new management.

**A/N: Gee, I love writing McCoy. He is hilarious, I think. Please tell me if you spot any errors or if the website tries to destroy my sanity by putting all my fics through Russian Roulette and shooting 'em every which way. I really like to know about it. **

**All right. Thanks for reading! I will de-stress and then begin pounding out Chapter 3! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I am officially finished with all of my AP testing. Prepare for better quality updates, as my mind is starting to repair itself.**

**But MORE IMPORTANTLY- I've finally figured out how to fill several of my horrendous plot-holes in future chapters! This story might actually turn out to be a decent, multi-chapter affair! **

**Whatever. Don't let me keep you. Enjoy!**

McCoy was startled awake by hands gripping his shoulders. He was shaken roughly several more times before he could even get his eyes open.

"Nurse Chapel!"

His groggy brain was trying to put two and two together, but all he had so far was double vision.

"Len, it's bad Len you have to get up. Hurry!"

Chapel's desperate tone shocked him wide awake. McCoy bolted out of his chair and stumbled quickly for the door. He didn't even bother checking his computer for the time. He just knew it hadn't been nearly long enough.

McCoy rubbed at his eyes while Chapel dragged him toward the operating theater. _That bad, huh._ And it was. Montgomery Scott stood just outside the door, white as a sheet. He clutched the braced wrist close to him as the Doctor and Nurse hustled by. _At least it's not Scotty_, he reflected as they passed. _No, _he revised after getting a look at his patient, _this is much worse._

The light on the chair was blinking. Kirk shook his head. _Those things have technical names. I know what they mean. I need more sleep. _He pressed a button, _the one that lets me talk, yes I know, Proper Noun, Place Name, Technical Jargon. _Communication channel opened, Kirk spoke into the speaker.

"Kirk here."

"_Captain…"_

"Yes, Mr. Scott? Is there an issue with the Rec room doors?" He smiled, remembering the Chief Engineer's insistence on getting _every last system_ ship-shape. It would do them all some good to lighten things up, especially with the 'dire rescue' looming on the horizon.

"_The… The doors will have to wait, Captain. That's what I'm tryin' to tell you. There will be a delay in getting the screens up past 85% power like you requested… There's been an… an accident, sir."_

Kirk's stomach dropped.

"An accident? What's happened, Scotty? Is anyone hurt?"

Scotty sighed on the other end of the line. _"Only one casualty sir, but it's Crowley. A maintenance hatch was left open by mistake… Some electrical components overheated while the Lieutenant was making adjustments. A bit of shrapnel… clean through to the stomach, sir. McCoy is operating now."_

Kirk sank back in his chair. He didn't _know_ Lieutenant Crowley, only knew of him. _But I know he's just a kid. It's dangerous work we do but… Something like that shouldn't happen._

"Scotty, where are you?"

_"I'm calling from Sickbay, sir."_

"Alright. Care to meet me in conference room 7C? I need to stretch my legs a bit."

After Scott's shaky affirmative, Kirk eased himself out of his chair.

"Spock, you've got the Conn. I'll be back shortly."

Scotty was pacing nervously back and forth across the length of the room. When the door opened with a harsh _whoosh_, he almost jumped. It was only the Captain. He let out a shuddering sigh, and Kirk must've seen it because his already glum expression fell further.

"Scotty…"

"Captain, before you begin," Scott cut him off. He had to get this out there and it needed out now. "I just want to affirm that I take full responsibility for the incident and will accept any disciplinary measures y'see fit to give."

The change from 'accident' to 'incident' wasn't lost on Kirk.

"Scotty, before we get into… How about you start from the beginning. Have a seat. Tell me what happened."

Scotty dropped into a chair and Kirk followed suit. They were both exhausted from the endless prep work. It was unwise, they both knew, running themselves into the ground just before a potentially grueling mission. Unwise, yes, but unfortunately necessary.

The Chief Engineer took a deep breath. "It started earlier- y' probably overheard the bit with Johnston an' the rest- tossin' things around like it was some game during a routine check. Usually it's fine, no harm done… Today, it was the same. Actually, nothing went poorly at all, y'understand, with the boys. Not until they came around to the maintenance hatches. They were just havin' a bit of fun, passin' tool chests back and forth, seein' how many they could hold. Evans had three, one too many, so he called Johnston over to help. He left a hatch open, must've forgotten. Crowley came back around, apparently, noticin' somethin' was off, and it just… it…"

Scotty's voice dropped off. He just stared at Kirk helplessly, the whole situation weighing immensely on his shoulders. Kirk knew he had to say something. He took a good look at Scotty. He had one wrist bound up in a bio-brace, and kept rubbing at it every time he mentioned the accident.

"Scotty, what happened to your wrist? Did some of the shrapnel-"

"Oh! Oh no, sir. Sprained it closing up maintenance hatches. Two or three closer to the engine room, another by the warp core. Not so many as would be a problem! I was actually seein' Doctor McCoy a bit before all this happened."

"So, you couldn't have been there to prevent it."

Scotty colored a bit and ducked his head. "I know what you're tryin' to do sir, but frankly-"

"Scotty." It was Kirk's turn to interrupt and Scott let him have it. "Scotty, you weren't there, and that wasn't your fault. I know you keep the tightest reins on your engineers. I have the safety assessment scores to prove it. This wasn't your fault." Kirk paused, trying to get a better feel for the situation. If only he had a little more information, he could better assuage the engineer's guilt.

"How often- Scotty, what kind of circumstances have to be in play for that kind of system failure?"

Scotty's posture seemed to lift at the prospect of explaining the lovely lady _Enterprise_'s inner workings.

"Well, it actually takes a considerable amount of bad luck to happen, sir. There are several mechanisms that can be accessed from a standard maintenance hatch. Lots of useful electrical work is done this way."

"Alright. So, how do these components overheat?"

"It's actually a rare thing, Captain," Scotty began with a puzzled expression on his face, "There must be tremendous pressure on the mechanisms- imagine it like a gigantic fuse box-"

"An antiquated electrical-?"

Scotty cut Kirk off with a dismissive hand gesture. "Bear with me, Captain, I'm trying my best to explain."

Kirk nodded and motioned for Scott to continue.

"It's a gigantic fuse box, of sorts, spread out over Engineering. The mechanism in question was a regulator. When the hatch opens, many of the electrical systems are toned down so they can be operated on. That's why they can overheat- electrical buildup, over-taxation of the cooling system, a number of things. The box Crowley was working on was no different. Its primary function is to monitor the warp core and regulate power intake, temperature, things like that, something that would be routinely checked."

Kirk started suddenly. "Scotty! Are you saying the warp core is operating _unregulated? It's out of control?_"

"Ach! No, Captain, nothing of the kind. The unfortunate little box was one of about thirty. We're well prepared for a meltdown, of any one the systems."

A sudden frown crossed Scotty's face.

"What's the matter, Scotty?"

"That's just it sir." He began, "We _are_ well prepared for meltdowns. Several safety measures have to be _disengaged_ and for rather longer than that hatch was left open. Johnston, despite his panic, swore up and down it was only left for about five minutes. Captain! It's just struck me, that's not near long enough- _not anywhere near it_- for that heavily trafficked hatch to up and fail after only a few minutes of buildup!"

A huge weight was lifted, for both men. But, the elation was soon flattened by another concern.

"So, Scotty… How did it happen?"

Scott blinked, pondering. After only a moment, a call came through over the conference intercom. Kirk was roused to answer it.

"Kirk here."

"Captain."

It was Spock.

"Yes, Mister Spock."

"Captain, there has been another report of electrical failure in Engineering. Electrical components apparently exploded within an unattended maintenance hatch approximately thirty meters from the engine controls."

Scotty's face paled, and Kirk was quick to respond.

"Any casualties?"

"None, sir. The hatch, as I mentioned, was unattended."

Scotty's sigh of relief could be heard from the other side of the connection. Kirk closed his eyes and felt the relief wash over him again. _This has got to stop._

"Spock, who was the crewman performing maintenance?"

"It was Ensign Graves. He reported the explosion and consequent system failure. He states that he was adjusting a portion of wiring, stepped away to retrieve his toolbox for '_only a moment'_ and heard the explosion approximately thirty seconds after leaving."

"Only thirty seconds, Spock?"

"I doubt the accuracy of Graves' internal clock to be that-"

"Yes, I understand Spock, but, it was a relatively short amount of time?"

"Apparently, Captain."

Kirk turned back to Scotty, who had gone pale again. He studied his Chief Engineer. _Gears are turning, I can almost see. It. Is Scotty on to something? _ He had his answer when Scott burst from his seat and bolted to the door. He rapidly punched a sequence into the wall intercom, and opened a ship-wide communication.

"_Attention! All Engineering decks, evacuate the engine room immediately! Everyone out! DeSalle, set systems to auto-regulate and lead the evacuation. Move quickly, and for goodness sakes, DON'T go anywhere near the maintenance hatches!"_

Kirk shot up out of his chair as soon as Scotty closed communications.

"Mister Scott! What in heaven's name is happening?"

Scotty turned, some mixture of hot fury and cold fear circulating over his countenance. The volatile combination slowed Kirk to a stop.

"Captain, this can only mean one of two things: A severe malfunction, the likes of which I've never seen, or far worse- sabotage."

**A/N: OH THE SUSPENSE. Ha ha. This was a fun one to write. I really ****_really_**** love Scotty, but he never gets enough love. We should be seeing much more of our favorite Scotsman in the future.**

***Obligatory warning that I am terrible at spelling***

***Follow-up request to tell me please if I misspell anything or just make a muck of my grammar***

***Expression of thanks, love, mush***


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I am SO sorry for the wait! If it's any excuse, I had to graduate, so I didn't have time to get this up. **

**BUT NOW IT'S HERE. I will have much speedier updates in the future, I swear.**

**Enjoy!**

Spock made his way down the corridor to the turbolift. The emergency meeting in Conference 7C had brought all of the department heads to the table. Engineering, Science, Security, and Medical (delegated by Nurse Chapel, since Doctor McCoy was still busy in surgery) had held a summit while the arrival clock ticked down from three hours. Spock recalled how Chief Engineer Scott had delivered a very emotional oration on the compromised safety in Engineering. Spock had responded logically and suggested an investigation to be made at once by all relevant personnel who were not otherwise engaged by the mission at hand.

The question of sabotage was broached and debated thoroughly with Security Chief Freeman. He advocated a position of proactive watchfulness, a tactic with which Spock fully agreed. Future comings and goings in Engineering would be monitored and a small security team stationed outside each of the danger zones. Captain Kirk mediated while Chief Freeman questioned Scotty about the maintenance team's movements during the hours just before the first explosion. Theories were exchanged and short tempers kept in check. Chapel gave an update on the medical team's mission readiness, stating that they were all set for departure. Scotty timidly asked for an update on Lieutenant Crowley's operation, and Chapel relayed McCoy's last report: Crowley was currently stable, but the operation was going to be tricky. Beyond that, Chapel was hesitant to discuss publicly.

The meeting had been called when the Bridge reported in. Chekov gave the ship wide one-hour warning, and all of the department heads dispersed. Spock strode at a steady pace toward the turbolift doors. He was mentally reviewing the general briefing on Hephaste I, scanning for any pertinent information that might have been omitted from the initial reports. _Hepheste I, a class M planet, temperatures warmer than the average human would find comfortable… _Nothing yielding in geography. The previous report stood. _Perhaps culture… _He searched his vast memory for the file. _Ah yes. Hephasten culture: Organized into clanships… yes, trade oriented, affirmative… Proper society values- One moment. 'Proper' values are not specified in the report… Perhaps a review is in order._ Spock determined he would thoroughly search the file upon returning to his station.

The turbolift doors slid open and he entered. Before closing, the doors also admitted one rushing Captain Kirk.

"Captain."

"Mr. Spock. I'm glad I caught the turbolift in time."

"Indeed, Captain."

They stood in silence for the rest of the ride to the bridge. Spock contemplated the ramifications of an incomplete report; Kirk caught his breath and readied himself for the mission. When the doors opened again, both men returned to their stations without a word. Spock immediately started sorting through the Federation's entire file on the Hephasten system. To expedite the process, he ran a specific search for societal functions. His efforts were not in vain. A mere footnote on the intricacies of Hephasten textile trading provided his answer. '_The textile trade is one of the more lucrative endeavors in the Hephasten mercantile system, in part for the Hephasten tradition of formality in both dress and mannerism. Formal attire is worn at almost all times, barring events of crisis or-"_

The report continued its description of textiles and their various functions in the commonplace. Spock found this new information both fascinating, and troubling. If the _Enterprise_ inadvertently violated one of Hephaste I's most basic social customs, they might be asked to leave or be refused the opportunity to render aid. This would complicate things for both the victims of the disaster and the crew of the _Enterprise._ They would no doubt have to accommodate the Hephasten custom of formal dress. Spock knew he must inform the Captain at once.

"Captain, a moment."

At the quiet request, Kirk turned in his chair. He met Spock's look and headed over to his First Officer's station.

"Captain, I have discovered some information that will be vital to pleasant relations with the Hephasten people."

"Let's hear it, Mr. Spock." Kirk rubbed a hand over his weary face. Any information on Hephasten diplomacy would be incredibly useful. In all honesty, the bare-bones reports weren't terribly helpful in that respect.

"I recalled a phrase from the diplomatic study that left some question in my mind as to its meaning and potential implementation. According to the report, 'Hephasten society upholds proper values and bases all interactions on these formal principles'." He quoted. "What the report excludes is the description of these values, which seem of immeasurable value to the Hephastens."

"So… Have you found them, then? The descriptions?"

"Affirmative, Captain." Spock displayed the footnote on textiles for Kirk to view. He quoted from the passage for his Captain's benefit. "Formal attire is worn at almost all times, barring events of crisis or severe destitution.' Though the planet is in a state of 'crisis', Captain, it would be prudent to adopt this cultural procedure. We may have more success in diplomatic relations with the governing bodies, or in communicating with local relief efforts."

Kirk resisted the urge to sigh. _Spock's pretty clever, spotting that little detail. It could make the difference between our success or failure. The relief crews are going to hate this. I can think of one… officer… in particular who will despise wearing dress uniforms. But, if it can get the people the help they need…_

"Mr. Spock, contact the aid teams. We have a little less than an hour until arrival. I'd like to see as many of them as possible in full dress uniform."

"I shall report the order at once, Captain."

Kirk turned on his heel and left the bridge to get changed.

McCoy strode out of his Sickbay. He stood tall and proud, despite his fatigue. The good doctor had been in the operating theater for the last seven hours. Crowley had made it, _thank goodness_, but it had been worrisome for a while. The Lieutenant had lost more blood than McCoy was initially prepared for. The team, minus Chapel, had scrambled for the necessary transfusion equipment. _Well, _McCoy mused, _it was a long seven hours, Chapel or no Chapel. We're almost there. The sooner we start this thing, the sooner we can finish it. _

Spock's ship wide announcement came not a moment later. Regardless of whether or not he was alone in the corridor, McCoy threw his hands in the air and swore. He cursed the speaker system, the _green-blooded, no good, dirty hobgoblin,_ and most of all, the dress uniforms.

"_All crew members" _Spock advised, _"Should report wearing their dress shirts and Starfleet-issue uniform trousers for both uniformity and safety. The terrain is hazardous, and as such, dress boots should be dismissed in favor of their multi-terrain counterparts."_

After Spock's sign-off, McCoy's shoulders slumped. He trudged the rest of the way to his quarters, grumbling all the way. Deep in the darkest depths of his closet, he found the accursed dress shirt and trousers. The multi-terrain boots were an easier find. They were little used in cities or on Class M planets, but if Spock advised them, then there must be a good reason. He was exchanging uniforms when the door chimed. Grumbling some more, McCoy wrestled with the dress shirt. "Yeah, come in!" He called once he had finished.

The door opened to reveal one Montgomery Scott, wearing his regular uniform top, dress pants, and boots. In his un-braced hand, he held two things: the hanger for his bright red dress shirt, and a bottle of scotch. McCoy couldn't stop from grinning at the sight of his friend. _In this case, 'drinking buddy' might be a more appropriate term._

"Mister Spock said t' wear trousers for this one. So, no kilts, I'm afraid. It's a shame. I thought we could both use a drink before this gets started." McCoy nodded appreciatively and went for glasses. Scotty made the scotch comfortable on the table. He hung his dress shirt up on the back of one chair before settling down. McCoy returned with the glassware.

"How's the arm, Scotty?"

"Oh, it's doing just fine." He gestured about with it. "Though, I'm at a loss for… Well… How am I supposed to go about gettin' dressed? It's sittin' there just fine with my one sleeve rolled up, but the dress shirts don't exactly have a lot of wiggle room now do they?"

McCoy pondered this. Scotty had rolled up one sleeve to accommodate the brace, but he would have a lot more trouble pulling it off in a dress uniform. The Doctor tried to come up with a solution while Scotty poured the drinks.

"What're the chances Jim'll let you stick with the regular shirt?"

"Slim to none, Doctor. I'll be down on the ground with the rest of my teams helping to repair… Well, whatever needs repairing! Hephaste I is a Federation member with warp-capability. Surely they'll have some life-support systems or irrigation lines…"

"Sounds t'me like you're tryin' to justify vague orders. I understand. The bureaucracy! Heaven forbid we make an _exception_ here and there. Well," McCoy raised his glass, "Here's to something to do. Hopefully there's somethin' down there to keep us entertained. I'd hate to see all these clever heads gettin' bored. _Then_ there'd be anarchy!"

"Amen to that, Doctor!"

They both drank an appropriate amount, considering their imminent return to duty. _Heck, _McCoy thought, _we're still ON duty, and due to arrive any minute. _

"Scotty, let's see if we can get that brace sorted out." Scotty carefully removed his outer shirt, but left his black undershirt on. It wouldn't be in the way. He'd need it, too, if the dress shirt proved to be just _too much_, and befell some sort of tragic annihilation. Not that he had any designs to such an end. No sir. With McCoy's help, Scotty tried to push his braced arm through one sleeve of the dress shirt. No luck.

"I, _Ach!,_ don't think that's goin' to work, Doctor." Scotty hissed through clenched teeth. McCoy rocked back on his heels.

"I see. You're right, Scotty. I don't know what I was thinkin'. I guess all these long hours're catchin' up to me." McCoy shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll have to come up with something else. There's only a few minutes left before we have to report to the shuttles. Any ideas? It's a shame we can't just tear up your sleeve. I mean, I know the braces're supposed t'be slim, but these sleeves are slimmer still." He began pacing around the room while Scotty contemplated his arm. Suddenly, his head snapped up.

"I've got it! Doctor McCoy, exactly how long would y' say we've got?"

"Oh, about twenty minutes, give or take. What'cha thinkin', Scotty?"

"Just a little idea… Doctor, can you sew at all?"

McCoy snorted. "Every physician worth their salt is versed in a stitch or two. We learn 'em in case of emergencies, like if we've got an away team stranded somewhere without anything but primitive medical aid." He made his way over to one of the low cabinets and removed a small first-aid kit. "Scotty, what do you have in mind? Scotty? Hey-!"

The engineer was already pulling McCoy out the door. They made a mad dash down the corridors to Scotty's quarters. The door swished open, and Scotty was rifling through his closet in a flash. His dress shirt hit the table with a _swoosh_. In a moment, Scotty stopped searching. He returned to the table with a pair of large black gloves.

"These are primarily used for dangerous electrical work, or repairs on overheated machinery." Scotty explained. He set the thick gloves on the table in front of McCoy and returned to his closet. He stooped to pick up another article and came back around. Scotty was holding a red uniform shirt. McCoy was surprised to see the gaping hole that stretched all across the front half. He was more used to seeing that kind of damage in Command Yellow, strangely enough, but accidents happened in Operations all the time.

"There was an accident a while back. Caught my shirt on fire. No other significant damage, really." McCoy checked out the singed edges of the shirt. Scotty's statement caused him to review his memory of the past few accidents in Engineering. McCoy was concerned and more than a little upset that he had _never been informed_ of the incident. His attention was brought back to the present by the sound of tearing fabric. Scotty was in the process of ripping the gold stripes off one sleeve.

"Scotty! Would y'slow down and tell me what you're plannin'?"

"Oh! Sorry, Doctor. I was just making a few… cosmetic adjustments...Here." He picked up the right-hand glove and held it out to the doctor. "I reckon if we can get the stripes sewn on one o' these things, it might look a bit more… formal." He finished removing the second stripe and handed the pair to McCoy.

"If you could just attach those, let's say, right about here," Scotty indicated a point closer to the arm-hole than the fingers, "This could work."

McCoy was starting to see where this was headed. The long gloves would cover Scotty's arm up to the bicep. The bio-brace would be completely hidden.

"That's… That's brilliant, Scotty! But what're you gonna tell Jim or the Vulcan if they ask?"

"I'll tell them the truth." He stated simply. "But if any Hephasten 'diplomats' decide to ask, I'll tell them it's the mark o' the Chief Engineer, a special honor earned only from valor under fire!" Scotty's grin was enough to make McCoy chuckle as he started neatly-but-hastily forcing the needle through the tough fabric. It was as thick as it was heat resistant, if Scotty's descriptions were anything to go by. This 'formal gauntlet' was going to be tricky to pull off in fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, Scotty's "sewing hand" was out of commission. While he couldn't help McCoy fix up the glove, he could implement the second, and slightly riskier, part of his plan. He wielded the pen-knife carefully. Before McCoy could ask any questions, Scotty cut his dress uniform sleeve at the elbow.

"Scotty!"

"It's the only way, Doctor! These people need help. If we're going to be able t' give it t' them, accordin' to Mr. Spock's estimates, we're gonna 'ave t' play by their rules!" Seeing how Scotty was getting worked up, McCoy held out his hand in a placating gesture. _He's just as shocked as I am. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Jim'll understand. I've cut up uniforms before in emergencies. I guess it's just a new thing for Scotty._

"You're fine, Scotty. Just surprised me 's all. Here- roll that sleeve once. It'll stop the severed edge from rubbing your elbow raw under this glove." McCoy finished up the last bit of his stitching and held the glove out to look at his handiwork. The only color thread he had available was black, but with some careful maneuvering, he had minimized the visible thread. "Here, have this." McCoy tossed the finished glove to Scotty, who caught it left-handed. The glove slid over the brace. Scotty was able to pull it back all the way past his elbow as expected.

"How's it feel?"

Scotty flexed his fingers. "A wee bit tight, but other than that," Scotty couldn't help but smirk, "I'd say it _fits like a glove."_

Before McCoy had a chance to throttle his friend, the announcement came for all teams to report to the shuttle bay. It was time to go.

/*\\

**A/N: HA HA HA. Oh Scotty. That was really terrible. Feel free to tell me if I messed anything up. ****Constructive criticism is the dilithium crystal to my warp drive! **

**I should not be allowed to make jokes.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I polished up the last bit this morning! Enjoy!**

The first thing Kirk saw out the shuttle window was the smoke. It was billowing across an enormous area of land. Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw other staring too.

"What could be happening?" Chekov whispered to the ensign sitting next to him.

_That's what bothers me. _ Kirk thought. They had almost no information regarding the disaster, save the unusual distress signal. No communications had been established yet. _I'm worried. If not just for the Hephasten people, then for my crew. If things are so bad on the ground that they don't even have communications, we might have a major problem working with local relief efforts. _

As the indicator flashed, everyone on the shuttle _Copernicus_ strapped themselves in. Kirk looked around at his crew. McCoy and Scotty weren't present- they were seated safely on the _Galileo. _As the first bout of turbulence hit, Kirk remembered Scotty's injury. _Well, he reported in. Everything must be in order._

Little did he know that at that same moment, Scotty was thinking _'What he doesn't know won't hurt him.'_

Sulu found a safe looking patch of ground and brought the _Copernicus_ down. Once cleared, the teams began reassembling and exiting the shuttle. Kirk, in his best green dress shirt, exited with his logistics crew. The Captain's team was in charge of overseeing the aid, as well as negotiating any diplomatic issues that should arise. He stepped out of the shuttle and was immediately assaulted by the heat. It was oppressive. The landscape reminded him of Vulcan- all deserts and mountains in the distance, but with more red. The sand was tinted orange- not quite as bold as the fruit, but more of a bright rust color. The maroon mountains on the horizon reminded Kirk of a red sunset. _What's that old saying? Red sky in the morning…_

His fond walk down memory lane was interrupted by the appearance of the _Galileo _to his left, and a new shape in the distance to his right. Step one would be to get everyone in order before they met anyone from the surface. Kirk walked quickly to the _Galileo_ to rally the troops. He was greeted by opening doors and the thudding footsteps of Doctor McCoy.

"Well, Bones, how are you holding up?" He knew his CMO despised the dress uniforms. _It's probably going to be miserable, what with Bones complaining about the shirt, and the heat…_

"Actually, Jim, I'd say I'm doin' just fine. It's not so different from a hot afternoon in Georgia."

_What?_

"I… uh… That's, ah, fantastic news, Bones! I'm glad to- … How's the crew? Is your medical team ready to go?" Kirk couldn't quite form words in response to this totally unexpected attitude. His CMO never acted like this.

McCoy moved away from the shuttle to allow the others to exit. "I'd say. They've been prepping extensively. M'Benga was up for two or three shifts straight making sure we were good to go. Chapel put in her time, even though she's staying on the _Enterprise._ Everybody put in their time. We're set for anything."

"Good. That's great, Bones. Anything you need help moving, sorting, or…?" McCoy was herding the Captain away from the _Galileo_ and back towards the _Copernicus._ The Doctor knew Spock was standing by somewhere. _If anyone can sidetrack Jim, _he thought, _the hobgoblin can. I've just got to give Scotty enough time to get to work. At that point, there's really nothing he needs to be worried about. _The crewmen on the _Copernicus_ had been persuaded, cajoled, and threatened by Doctor McCoy to keep Scotty's glove a secret for as long as possible. The commanding officers were really the only ones that needed worrying about.

"Naw, Jim, we've got everything covered. Have you seen that pointed-eared First Officer of yours? I bet he's havin' a field day, what with this bein' so much like Vulcan." Spock was quickly located, and McCoy opened up with a suitably illogical and distracting statement.

"So, Spock, I take it you're going to be snug as a bug in a rug here. The wind whistlin' in your ears, the sand in your shoes, the whole nine yards._"_

To his credit, Spock only blinked before responding.

"As… colloquial as your statements are, and however diluted by incredible illogic, I believe I understand your meaning."

"Thank heavens! Jim, do you have any idea how long it's taken me to get through to him? By golly, I'm a bona-fide computer-whisperer!"

Spock resisted the urge to sigh. "It would be illogical to whisper to a computer, for any reason. In response to your earlier… hmm…" Spock gave up trying to quantify the statement and continued his thought. "The atmosphere and landscape of Hephaste I is indeed similar to that of Vulcan."

McCoy said nothing, just stood there grinning. Kirk rolled his eyes. "Alright, you two. We've got a rescue mission to get underway. If I'm not mistaken, there's a welcome party on its way." He pointed to where he had seen the shape earlier. True to Kirk's estimate, there was a cloud of dust growing larger as its creators closed in. The trio split up to organize the troops. The Captain gathered up his diplomatic staff, which included Lieutenants Uhura, Farrell, and Palmer, as well as a small security team headed by Security Chief Freeman. He waved this group forwards while the other teams began unloading supplies.

Kirk's diplomatic team set out to meet the welcome party. As they neared, Kirk could make out individual figures. There were about ten Hephastens in the party. One walked out in front, closely followed by another taller figure, and then a small party of what must be the escorts. In a few moments, Kirk could start distinguishing features. The Hephasten people had orange skin and dark brown hair, an adaptation- Kirk had remembered- made in response to the harsh desert landscape and its predators. Their clothing for the most part reflected aspects of their culture- rich textiles and intricate stitch-work could be picked out from a distance. Now that the distance was closing, Kirk put a polite smile on his face. The welcome party was close. Kirk began taking stock of the individual members. The leader was dressed far more extravagantly than the others. He wore a robe of deep crimson under a long vest that was dark green and gold. The leader made a stark contrast to the rest of his entourage; most of the other Hephastens were clad in various dark reds and browns. The tall Hephasten immediately behind the leader was the only exception. He wore a very dark orange robe with a brown sash and boots.

Comparatively, Kirk thought his team looked pretty good.

Recalling the only sections of the report Kirk had studied intensively, Kirk began formal greeting procedures. He stepped forward from his halted team and gave a polite bow.

"Greetings, honored sir. Greetings to your party."

To his relief, the Hephasten leader returned the gesture.

"Greetings to you, Captain, and greetings to your crew. I am Blandus Varius of the Diplomatic Council. My people and I are greatly relieved at your arrival."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Councilor Varius. I am Captain Kirk, and this is the diplomatic crew from the _Enterprise_. The rest of the relief crew are unloading supplies from the shuttles." Kirk introduced his team and they bowed after their Captain's example. Varius inclined his head out of respect, and some of the welcoming party returned the bows in full. Kirk took another step towards Varius. He saw the dark-clad Hephasten tense slightly in response. _A bodyguard, then,_ Kirk thought. _Well, this Blandus Varius must be an important man._

"Councilor Varius," Kirk began again, "What is the situation here on the ground? We... ah… Did not receive information on the disaster, or its casualties."

Varius' expression changed to one of somber seriousness. "Of course, Captain. A proper…hmm… briefing is in order. I shall explain quickly, so that your crew may begin the processes of aid. Our planet has a long and destructive history of seismic activity. As such, we have adapted our structures and lifestyles to the ever-changing nature of the surface. Unfortunately, and despite our efforts, an unexpected fault movement has left our capital city in ruins." Something in Varius' eyes changed, then, becoming more sorrowful before slipping back into blank professionalism. "The great city of Flagratus was one of our largest and is home to a great number of the Republic's citizens. We have been able to … recover most of our people, but there is extensive destruction. Rubble must be cleared in order to reach a quantity of raging fires that have broken out in the city. Citizens are still trapped in the more crowded areas of the city. Captain, I sincerely hope you and your crew can provide aid."

There was a genuine concern in Councilor Varius' voice and attitude. Kirk's resolve hardened as he listened to the Councilor's story. He nodded once, and then turned to his officers.

"We need to split up and relay this information to the teams and their leaders. Excuse us a moment, Councilor." Varius nodded and Kirk huddled up with his team.

"Here's the plan. We're going to collaborate with the local aid forces, but we need to divide and conquer. We'll need the Medical teams to split up into two forces: Search and Rescue Aid, and Confirmed Casualty Aid. One will go with the rubble-clearing and firefighting teams, and the other will regroup with the Hephasten field hospitals- or _make some_ if they aren't already organized. Palmer!" The lieutenant stood at attention. "Inform Doctor McCoy and his teams of the situation and the plan." Palmer gave a nod and a 'Yes, Captain' before racing off toward the shuttles.

"Operations and Engineering," Kirk Continued "Will compose the majority of the rubble-clearing force. We'll need to identify the most critical areas of destruction and work from there out. We have the equipment and manpower to put a dent in those troublesome roadblocks. Farrell! Get Scotty and his teams up to speed. Scotty's clever and experienced. He'll know what demolition equipment to get ready." Farrell gave his 'Yes, Captain' and took off.

"Somebody needs to put out the fires. Sciences can handle the preparation and application of the _Enterprise's_ firefighting resources. They'll need to pair their teams with the Operations teams in a two-pronged flame control attack. Uhura, take the plan to Spock. He can put those scientific brains to work on logistical measures." Uhura small smile and 'Yes, Captain' in response to his little joke lightened Kirk's heart about the whole affair. If the crew could keep their heads at a time like this, then there was absolutely nothing he needed to worry about. _I have the best crew in the entire galaxy._ Kirk mused with a smile.

Chief Freeman stood at attention by his side. Kirk turned back to the welcome party.

"Councilor, we're ready to get started."

/*\\

**A/N: Hey! We made it to the planet! ****_Finally._**** This chapter's just a tad short, and I'm sorry, but there's a good reason! It's the end of the exposition! The real plot stuff begins in chapter 6!**

**OH! Thank you SO MUCH for those awesome reviews! Like, seriously! I get giddy every time I take a look. You guys are the best ever. I couldn't ask for anything more! **

**(The new chapter might be delayed... It's a busy week for me, but I will POWER THROUGH AND GET Y'ALL THAT NEW DANG CHAPTER!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Extra long chapter for my extra long week! I do not expect to have anything else up before Saturday, seeing as how this week will be the busiest of my summer.**

**Whatever. Enjoy!**

It was hours later, in the heat of the day, when Scotty became truly thankful for his overlarge glove. Though it got him strange looks from the rest of the crew, not a single one of them said anything about it. _That'll be Doctor McCoy's influence, I'd bet! I know I wouldn't cross him, if he threatened ME with those hyposprays!_ Besides the immediate distinction it gave Scotty, the glove also helped protect his already injured arm from splinters and dangerous rubble. Most of his teams had been issued smaller gloves for general safety, but Scotty found his heavy-duty 'armor' could handle materials at much higher temperatures than ordinary safety gloves would allow. Several times, he was able to help pull back pieces of near-molten metal so a science-officer-turned-firefighter could extinguish the nearby flames.

Scotty was always careful not to over-exert his wrist, lest he find himself unable to assist on the mission. One of the things the Chief Engineer hated was forced downtime. He made no small effort in constantly occupying himself with tasks onboard the _Enterprise,_ and was nearly as bad as Captain Kirk when it came to escaping Sickbay. Scotty would listen to McCoy's medical reasoning, and often half-hearted mechanical analogies, for taking it easy and resting. Perhaps that was the reason that the good Doctor had helped him out. Scotty was one of the few COs who would yield to McCoy's medical expertise. He understood about field specialization acutely, deferring to the opinions of trained experts when facing a problem in Engineering. McCoy was no different. He understood medicine the way Scotty understood warp mechanics. Scotty would concede to one more day of bed-rest than he would have liked, whereas Spock and the Captain would make excuses (Vulcan 'superiority' and natural stubbornness, respectively) to get out of Sickbay as quickly as they were able.

Fortunately for McCoy, Scotty noticed as they covered more ground on Hephaste I's surface, the Flagratian citizens seemed to submit immediately to higher authority. Medical relief, demolitions, and cleanup teams had no difficulty in getting the people to cooperate with them. In fact, the speedy response to requests and orders made all the difference. The _Enterprise _teams were sweeping through the city faster than the wildfires. Though by no means safe again, the city was rapidly becoming less on-fire, for one thing. For another, the combined efforts of Scotty's demolition and clearing teams, roadways were reopening to an extent. Supplies were becoming easier to access. Much needed medical equipment that had made its way across continents could get exactly where it was needed. Though most of the Flagratians had received basic first aid before the _Enterprise_ had arrived, the treatment was largely inadequate due to the chaos. Now, all of the survivors had access to more complete and advanced aid.

Scotty glanced over his shoulder. One of the cleanup teams was disposing of debris. Using their demolition phasers- standard issue phasers that were modified for greater spread-accuracy and durability for the purpose of debris disposal or demolition- they cleared a path for waiting Hephasten aid vehicles. Scotty was busy with the other half of the team, manually breaking down brick structures so the useful material could be recycled. Because most of the buildings in Flagratus were faced with bricks, there was a large quantity to be moved.

It got hotter as the day went on. The brick-moving crew had worked up a sweat under the Hephasten sun. Scotty was burning up in his dress shirt like the others, not to mention the odd feeling of extra moisture on his entire arm. Despite the heat, the teams continued on. As long as there was work to be done and daylight to do it in, the _Enterprise _teams would be working. Scotty kept this commitment in mind as he passed another couple of bricks off to the next man. The team had discovered that moving the bricks was a slow and difficult task, so they had adapted their methods. A few of them would gather around the main pile and hand bricks to their waiting teammates, who would then carry their stack to the anti-grav cart. Scotty strategically positioned himself at the origin of the assembly line. It wasn't out of any laziness that he chose this spot. In fact, Scotty had a fast-paced and difficult job. He just knew he was physically incapable of carrying a stack over any distance in his condition.

Ensign Gregory stepped up to the brick pile and held out her arms. "Load me up, sir!" She said with an enthusiastic smile. Scotty smiled back as he handed her some bricks. His whole team had kept up a positive attitude throughout the difficult work. Not one of them complained. Not one of them slackened their pace. And he couldn't be prouder. Ensign Gregory headed off with her impressive load and the next man in line stepped up. Lieutenant Paulson, from Scotty's perspective, looked rather unwell. Paulson's face was flushed dark-red, and Scotty knew immediately it wasn't from sunburn.

"Paulson? Are you alright, lad?"

The lieutenant blinked at Scotty and then nodded. "Yes sir. I'm perfectly fine, sir."

Scotty was skeptical of that, but trusted his men to be able to take care of themselves and not take unnecessary risks. He began piling bricks into Paulson's hands. Scotty stopped a few bricks short of a full load, but Paulson didn't seem to notice. _That's another bad sign._ The pile they were focusing on was nearly cleared, so Scotty didn't see any harm in leaving for a moment to follow Paulson. He didn't want to embarrass any of his men by publicly reprimanding them, and he figured he might also be overly suspicious. _The lad could be perfectly fine. In fact, he might just be a bit sunburned. Better safe than sorry, anyhow…_ He got up from his position on the brick pile and headed after the lieutenant. He had hardly traveled past the building's foundation when there was a crash and a shout. Scotty raced off in the direction of the anti-grav cart. Halfway to the cart, he saw Paulson sprawled out on the ground.

"Paulson!" Scotty raced forward and knelt at the man's side. "Lieutenant Paulson! Ameqran! What happened, lad? Are you alright?" Thankfully, Paulson was conscious. He sat up slowly with Scotty's help and tried to clear his head.

"Yes, sir. I'm fine sir. Just… tripped or something. Scraped my hands, that's all, sir."

Unfortunately, the latter part of his statement was true. Paulson's dark hands were covered in a myriad of bright red abrasions. He looked too pale, in Scotty's opinion. Something was wrong here. The Chief Engineer scanned the area for a Medical team, or just someone in Starfleet blues. He managed to flag down a nurse after only a moment. The dark haired woman was at their Paulson's side in a second.

"What happened, Commander?" She inquired, carefully assessing Paulson's condition.

"Well, I don' exactly know, beyond the fact that he looked unwell at the brick pile. I gave 'im a light load and followed 'im to th' cart t'make sure he was all right, but when I got here, Paulson had already fallen. I don' know much beyond that."

"Hmmm…" The nurse scanned Paulson's vitals with her medical tricorder. Her lips pursed when she read the information. "Lieutenant Paulson is dehydrated." The nurse took a water flask from her medical bag and made Paulson drink. "He'll need to rest for a bit. In fact… Commander Scott, can you call a break for your teams? Everyone should take the opportunity and drink some water. The area is dangerous enough without having to worry about dehydration or heat exhaustion." The nurse stood and brushed off her dress pants, which were hopelessly covered in dust already. "Make sure everyone is properly hydrated, Commander. We have enough to worry about already." She flashed a quick smile. "Let any of us in Medical know if there are any other problems." As she turned and left, Scotty called to the assembly line.

"Alright, _Enterprise_! We're takin' a mandatory water break. Everyone needs to stay hydrated! Medical's got enough t'worry about without us droppin' from the heat. Get in th' shade and take five." Scotty got to his feet and then helped Paulson under one of their temporary structures. The temp-tent was crowded over with crewmen already, but several of them moved out of the way for Scotty and Paulson.

Once he had made sure the lieutenant was out of harm's way, Scotty checked to see that everyone was drinking. Wary himself of the dangers of the heat, Scotty rehydrated as well.

* * *

Doctor McCoy leaned on one of the temp-tent's support beams. It _was_ just as hot as Vulcan. And dry, too. _What was I saying about Georgian summers? This is more like a Texas summer: no moderating breeze, no moisture… Well, at least somebody is probably enjoying himself. I bet Spock's in hog heaven with all this dang sand! He's probably bored the natives half to death with his enthusiasm. Wait, Vulcans don't do enthusiasm. 'Ardent devotion to logic' is probably as close as they get._ He took another gulp of water from his flask. McCoy understood the importance of hydration from experience. You didn't grow up in the South without picking up a thing or two about heat safety.

He surveyed the field hospital with a bit of pride. Before their arrival, the whole local operation had consisted of an overworked clinic staff with a few first-aid kits. Now, there were at least three field hospitals set up in the capital city, each with fresh medical personnel. Flagratians had come out of the woodwork seeking medical attention for themselves or for their family members. True to the cultural reports, the Hephasten people stuck together in close clan groups. Fortunately for the groups, the field hospitals bean serving a dual purpose: while the citizens received medical aid, they could reunite with the rest of their family. McCoy had witnessed several teary reunions between mothers, fathers, children, and grandparents. People who thought they'd never see each other again were having their hopes rekindled left and right. McCoy smiled. This was one of the best parts of his job.

He tried to stifle a yawn when M'Benga walked up, but it was too late.

"Need a break, Doc?"

"I'm just finishing one, thank you very much."

M'Benga looked skeptical. "I know there's a lot to do, but there's no reason to run yourself into the ground. McCoy, you're going to need to get off your feet before they drop out from under you."

McCoy sighed. M'Benga was right, but there was just too much to do. The treatment line was backing up around the block. No serious cases at the moment, but he really needed to get back to work. McCoy stretched his back and neck. It had been a long day, but it was only half over. He waved to M'Benga and took up his position near the middle of the tent. He was happy to see that his team was working well with the Hephasten aid crews. They appeared to be chatting amicably. McCoy remembered seeing other teams with similar good relations. The Hephasten people knew a good deal about wildfire control, he supposed, recalling the Hephasten firefighter's animated conversation with one Vulcan team leader. McCoy smiled at the thought of Spock deferring to an expert opinion. He was usually the expert in almost any given field, _At least, he thinks he's the expert in every field,_ and rarely had to take instruction from anyone.

On the other hand, most of these Hephasten relief agents were no more than nurses or small-time practitioners. They had very few surgeons among their ranks. This complicated things just a bit. All of the _Enterprise's _surgeons had been occupied for most of the morning with correcting previous surgeries. In the chaos, many of the ill-equipped medical professionals had been scattered or rendered unable to provide aid themselves. Such things happened in a disaster situation, which is why speedy outside aid is invaluable.

McCoy cleaned and bandaged another cut. _Hephastens don't bleed green, at least_, McCoy thought. No, Hephasten blood was a pastel yellow- light, bright, and everywhere. McCoy, from a human perspective, thought it was very bizarre. Curious, that blood would remind him of wildflowers that grew back home. _Oh well. Such is the nature of xenobiology. If blood can be green and pink, why can't it be yellow?_ The Flagratian thanked him, bowed, and left. They at least knew the need for efficiency. With so many others in need of help, the citizens that had already been seen to went and made sure that they stayed well out of the way.

The next patient came forward. McCoy looked over the boy, a child around the age of ten or eleven. He had a few scabbed-over cuts on his forehead, and several newer cuts on his hands and legs. McCoy smiled, trying to put the frightened child more at ease.

"Hello, there. I'm Doctor McCoy. I'm gonna have you fixed up in no time at all. What's your name, son?" McCoy began running his tricorder over the kid to make sure there were no internal injuries that needed seeing to.

The kid spoke up. "Greetings honored Doctor McCoy. My name is Aulus Valerius. I thank you for… for your taking care of me and my people." McCoy smiled. The kid was adorable. He was watching McCoy with big brown eyes wide with curiosity.

"Why, you're welcome, Aulus Valerius. We're happy to come help y'all out while you're in a tight spot." He started unraveling the new bandages. Aulus was beginning to relax, even swinging his legs back and forth off the edge of the cot. As McCoy reached for the antiseptic spray, his doctor's eye took in more detail from the young Hephasten. From appearances, the kid seemed to be poorer than most, but with clothes on his back and a mostly consistent diet. McCoy shook the bottle of antiseptic and addressed Aulus.

"Now, I'm gonna put a little bit of this on your cuts, Aulus, and it's gonna sting a bit, but you're need to hold real still. Don't you worry. The spray will help heal your cuts and make sure they don't get infected."

Aulus' eyes widened, but he nodded after McCoy's reassurance. To his credit, the kid didn't even jump when McCoy applied the antiseptic. The bandages went on with no fuss, and in a moment, McCoy was helping Aulus up off the cot.

"There. That wasn't bad at all now, was it?" When the boy shook his head, McCoy chuckled. "You're right. It was nothin' a brave kid like you couldn't handle." McCoy reached out and shook Aulus' hand. "You've been a model patient, Aulus. Is your family around here somewhere? Your mom with one of the doctors?"

Aulus immediately shook his head. "No. No, sir. My parents are not here. They live in the city of Humusian, on the other side of the Western Mountains. I live here with my uncle. He is working to clear rubble from the Grand Forum."

McCoy regarded the kid with a new respect. He'd gone to the field hospital on his own. _Hmph. Responsible kid._

"Alright, Aulus. I've got to get workin' on the other patients. Stay safe, and go find your uncle 'soon as you can."

Aulus nodded vigorously. "Many thanks and farewell, Doctor McCoy."

_That's what I like about these Hephastens, _he thought as the next patient came forward, _they have excellent manners._

* * *

Night was falling. McCoy caught up to Scotty towards the end of the evening. So far, he'd managed not o aggravate his wrist beyond the elastic protection of the bio-brace. McCoy was pleased. The sky was nearly clear, since most of the fires had been extinguished. Stars started appearing in the south as McCoy and Scotty trekked back to the main field hospital. They had just witnessed the tail-end of a spectacular Hephasten sunset. Vivid purple streaks still trailed across the sky.

Scotty sat down on an open cot as instructed. The field hospital was crowded, but it was only one of dozens of shelters that had been set up after the disaster. McCoy helped the Chief Engineer get his glove off. The bio-brace was still firmly in place and functioning properly. McCoy picked up his tricorder and read its digital report.

"OK. Scotty. You've got to take it easier tomorrow. I'm pickin' up additional muscle strains, or at least more than there should be, with the brace operatin' at full capacity. Is there any supervisin' job or some such thing you can do?"

Scotty sighed. He'd really hoped the twinges in his arm had been the brace healing him instead of the painful fruit of his labors. "Aye, Doctor, I could try. No guarantees, though. If I see a job that needs immediate doin', by golly, I'm gunna do it!"

For a moment, the two men tried to out-scowl each other. Not breaking his sternest 'doctor's gaze' McCoy addressed Scotty. "If I catch you over-exerting yourself, I will have no compunctions 'bout sedatin' you till you're healed up to my standards."

Scotty couldn't help but grin. "Aye. That's understandable. But, _you'd have t'catch me first!_"

Both men chuckled in earnest at the very idea. They laughed until McCoy caught sight of one Jim Kirk headed right for them.

"Scotty…" He said in a low tone, still keeping a huge smile on his face. "Act natural, but get that dang glove back on quick! Jim's comin'!"

Scotty's mirth broke for a moment, but he recomposed his humor quickly. The glove wouldn't slide on too quickly, so Scotty had to think fast. He grabbed the sheet up off the cot and threw it around his shoulders. He slid his injured arm underneath the sheet and held the fabric close with his other hand.

"Good thinking, Scotty." McCoy hissed just before Kirk came to stand next to him.

"Howdy, Jim!" McCoy's face lit up in a too-large smile, one that seemed more unnerving to Kirk, what with the exhaustion lines painted on the doctor's face.

"Evening, Bones. Scotty. What are you up to?"

"Nuthin', sir!" Scotty chimed in. "I was jus' tellin' Doctor McCoy about some stubborn lieutenants o' mine. Thinkin' just 'cause they're big, tough, Starfleet gentlemen that they don' have t'stay hydrated!"

McCoy scowled for effect and then snorted. "These fellas think they know better than their training. I thought between M'Benga 'n me we'd have this stuff drilled into 'em. It's a shame that these bright lads and ladies are lackin' in a bit of common sense!"

It was Kirk's turn to chuckle. "I'll put in a word with them, Bones. The Flagratian High Senate has organized housing for our troops in a larger bunker on the outskirts of town. It's been inspected and declared completely safe."

"What about the survivors? The Flagratian citizens?" Scotty inquired with some concern in his voice.

"They have separate housing provided by the High Senate." Kirk answered. "Spock talked to some of the Senators. They were very impressed with our efficiency. I'd say they were eager to assure Spock of their competence in handling the situation. They seemed like they were trying to impress him."

"Huh. What d'ya know about that? Our Vulcan's found a home away from home." McCoy declared.

"I would not go so far as to say that, Doctor."

McCoy leapt nearly a foot in the air. He spun around and shoved a finger in Spock's face.

"_What on earth d'ya think you're doing sneakin' up on me like that?"_ McCoy nearly shouted.

Spock's head shifted back a fraction in surprise. "Well?" McCoy snapped.

"Doctor. I had no intentions of 'sneaking up' on you." From Scotty's view of the situation, as he'd seen similar antics before, something had gone wrong. Spock often utilized his 'Vulcan sneakiness' for the benevolent antagonizing of Doctor McCoy. More often than not, McCoy would turn around and grouch about Vulcan espionage. Not today.

"I apologize if I have startled you, Doctor." McCoy was still glowering, but his stance changed from attack-ready to slightly less offensive.

"Alright, Spock. I know you weren't doin' it on purpose. It's been a long day." Scotty watched as McCoy turned back around, looking more exhausted than he might have ever seen.

"Bones…" Kirk began slowly so he would not be pounced upon. "Maybe we should all call it a night. The High Senate showed Spock and I the way to our lodgings." McCoy rubbed a hand across his face.

"Fine. Ok, Jim. Lead the way."

Spock and the Captain headed out from under the temp-tent with McCoy ambling behind them. Scotty gripped the sheet, stood, and breathed a silent prayer. He grabbed the glove from where he'd hastily shoved it under the cot and hurried after his fellow COs. McCoy hung back to wait on him. Scotty burst out of the temp-tent and quickly matched pace with McCoy.

"The way I see it," he began once they'd found a comfortable stride, "It gets awfully cold in the desert at night."

McCoy responded with a nod. "Gee, I hope so."

/*\\

**A/N: Always remember to drink water when working out in the heat! This chapter was written partially from personal experience! Disaster relief organizations often require their volunteers to wear long pants, sleeves, and work boots when assisting in cleanup or demolition. It's really easy to get overheated if you're not careful, so drink plenty of water and probably also electrolyte drinks (but seriously, water=good). **

**I'm making things up as I go, so please let me know if I've majorly messed something up!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here's Chapter 7, right on time and really reliable!**

They had nearly made it back to their assigned lodgings. Really, they were _so close_. Spock had relayed the directions to the rest of them in exact logical clarity. The hotel was on the outskirts of town and survived with minor cosmetic damage. Spock continued with descriptions of the Flagratus that existed before the seismic disaster. Historically, the area never experience any sort of seismic anything. All of the sudden, about twenty years ago, minor tremors began occurring. These were infrequent, but built intensity until a few days ago, when one caused unprecedented destruction.

Spock was going on about other 'fascinating' bits of history, when the party was intercepted. A Hephasten man appeared ahead of them. Kirk and Spock slowed, bringing McCoy and Scotty to almost a full stop behind them. The man approached them quickly. He seemed a common sort of fellow, with a dark brown shirt, ordinary vest, and dark trousers. However, he wore a green sash that marked him as a messenger to the High Senate. Another cultural tidbit Spock had provided: Dark Green was the official color of the High Senate, and all its members and employees wore it in some form or fashion.

He stopped a few feet in front of Kirk and bowed.

"Honored Captain, you and your command staff are invited to the High Senator's banquet as guests of honor."

Kirk blinked. "Banquet? I was unaware that there was a banquet on, especially after all this." He looked at Spock, then back at McCoy and Scotty- noticing for the first time Scotty's sheet. "We're…ah… hardly dressed for a formal dinner."

"It is of no concern. The High Senators understand that… such times call for appropriate measures?"

Spock caught the gist of what the messenger was trying to say. "The wording is unusual, but the meaning is clear." He gave a nod at the man's effort with an obviously unfamiliar colloquialism.

The messenger bowed in thanks. "Will you attend, Honored Captain and Officers?"

McCoy sighed deeply but said nothing. Scotty kept quiet too. Maybe Kirk would forget about the sheet. Kirk turned to Spock, who gave the eyebrow equivalent of an accepting shrug.

"We would be delighted to attend the banquet. Would you lead the way, Mister…?"

"Sergius Evandrus, humbly at your service." Evandrus bowed in greeting.

"Thank you, Mr. Evandrus. I am Captain Kirk. This is my First Officer, Spock. Our comrades are Chief Engineer Scott, and Chief Medical Officer McCoy." Kirk didn't bother with official ranks, lest he confuse the man any more than the strange circumstances already had.

"It is a pleasure, esteemed gentlemen. If you would follow me…"

To McCoy's delight, the walk wasn't far. Kirk and Spock got caught up in a discussion with Evandrus on the way, so McCoy slipped back and helped Scotty get the glove back on.

"That was pretty sharp, Scotty, remembering the glove." He whispered as they quietly struggled to get the offending thing back on Scotty's arm, while they were walking. In the dark. Then, the wind started picking up, whipping the both of them with Scotty's sheet. Eventually, they got it together. Not a moment too soon, either. The group rounded the next corner and found a well-lit building awaiting them. The wind was really howling now. Evandrus hurried them all inside as the sand began to pelt any exposed skin. If McCoy wasn't grouchy before, he was now. He'd never been one for flying sands. He remembered loving the beach as a kid, that is, until a wayward thunderstorm started picking up wet, gritty clumps and flinging them with the stinging velocity of tiny hailstones. No, he wasn't particularly fond of flying sands.

Once they were all inside, they brushed most of the grit from their hair and followed Evandrus to a good-sized dining room. There was a high table, with tall chairs and taller table decorations. A two-foot candelabrum sat lit in the center. A platter of polished bronze kept wax from getting onto the immaculate green tablecloth. Single candles were held up on odd spires along the centerline of the table. Around the table itself, the Starfleet men saw what must be five or six High Senators. Blandus Varius sat with his bodyguard over in the corner and inclined his head to the new arrivals. Kirk returned the nod and was guided to his seat. Evandrus exited quickly after Kirk and his companions had been seen to. Kirk, Spock, Scotty, and McCoy were seated side by side on one edge of the table. Varius and the other Senatorial diners were seated by what appeared to be seniority on the other side and ends of the table.

Kirk's attention was drawn to the head of the table, where an elegantly clad Hephasten man sat. He held an ornamental wine glass identical to the ones places around the table, but in that respect his perceived equality ended. He had a sharp look about him, like someone in power. The man's formal outfit attested to this. His formal robe was green, with gold stitch work present throughout the material. Over his robe, he wore a deep blue tunic with gold edging. He had several medals pinned to his tunic, along with a shoulder sash dyed dark red. _Blood red, _McCoy thought. _Well, human blood anyway. I suppose this is maybe how they feel about our Command Gold tunics. Almost. I doubt that shade matches quite so well as this sash does… Matches very closely…_

McCoy was dragged from his train of thought by the sound of clanging glasses. He looked up and the table was full. The clashing metal had signified the arrival of all the guests, and the consequent beginning of the meal. Several servants appeared from behind a rough wooden door. For the first time, it occurred to McCoy that he hadn't seen any trees since they'd landed. _Maybe they import it. _

The servers brought out a multitude of bronze platters, each of which arrived in front of a diner. While this was going on, Scotty eyed the cutlery. It consisted of a deep spoon and a curved knife. Simple enough. He had draped his sheet over the back of his chair, since he didn't want to explain its random disappearance to the Captain. There was enough suspicious activity already. Scotty intended to eat with one hand for the majority of the meal. He'd rather ignore the glove than come up with an excuse for it on the spot.

The man at the head of the table stood. Chairs screeched backwards as the other High Senators and Starfleet men followed suit. The man raised his wineglass.

"I present this banquet with you as witnesses, the esteemed High Senate. In light of the recent tragedy and with hope for the coming days, tonight, we drink the wine of the Great Harvest. Our fathers have sowed, now we shall reap. Let us not continue in grief for our fallen, but again, in hope for the new day! The hope that has been brought to us by the _USS Enterprise!"_ The last words rose up in a triumphant shout, which was taken by the other High Senators.

"They really seem to like us." Kirk murmured to Spock.

"Indeed, Captain."

The other glasses were raised, and the toast made. Everyone took a gulp from their glass. McCoy and Scotty, accustomed to the taste of alcohol by years of practice, were expecting unusual but light wine.

They were wrong.

Cold flames licked the inside of McCoy's throat. In fact, his mouth and entire esophagus were burning. This Hephasten wine had a spicy quality that rivaled anything he'd ever been able to swallow. It took everything he had not to spit the whole mix out and ruin the manners his mama had instilled in him. Looking to his left and right, he noticed Jim and, to a slightly lesser extent, Scotty were having the same problem. Spock was a consistent neutral and didn't need checking.

Kirk, after choking the stuff down, managed a half smile.

"Whoa. That's strong stuff." He commented to no one in particular. His observations were picked up on by all members of the table, however. To Kirk's great relief, the man at the head of the table laughed heartily.

"Oh yes! I had forgotten! The last time a Federation ship visited, the crew reacted in a similar way. But, I am surprised! You have all managed it! Ha ha! One poor fellow from the… What was the ship…? _The Doyle!_ Yes. The poor lad spit the wine all over his shirt-front. Ha! We had a great laugh that night!"

Kirk and Scotty joined in the general laughter. Spock, a proper Vulcan, did not laugh. McCoy was scrutinizing the contents of his glass.

"Forgive me, esteemed guests," The booming voice began once again, "We are not all acquainted. Allow me to introduce my Senate." He gestured down the other side of the table, giving the Senator's name and department or specialty. "Cato Demius, of the Financial Council. Fabricus Cassianus, Head of the Council of Infrastructure…" He went on until he reached Varius. "Ah! You remember Blandus Varius of the Diplomatic Council, surely?" They nodded and gave greeting to Varius, who politely but briefly returned them.

"Good, good. Ah, but you may not know the Senate's Security Head: Celcus Tacitus!" Tacitus simply bowed. "Yes. Oh! Esteemed guests, I introduce myself. Your humble host, Gallus Bellona, of the Council of Defense."

"Greetings, esteemed Senate." Kirk addressed the group. "And thank you, Councilor Bellona, for generously hosting this banquet. We are all quite honored to be in attendance." Ever the orator, Kirk got several nods and appreciative looks.

"We are indebted to _you_, Captain, and your crew!" Bellona continued. "But, I am sure you are very hungry after a long day. Let us begin the meal!" Bellona raised his hands, gesturing for everyone to sit. They all did so. Servers appeared once again. They brought out smaller glasses and what appeared to be condiments. The glasses were placed in front of every diner. The platters were uncovered to reveal an apparent Hephasten delight, judging by the reactions of the High Senators. There was some sort of orange-brown meat, grilled and set on what looked like blue lettuce. There was a quantity of cooked grains to one side. The steamy purple stuff actually looked appetizing. _All in all, not an entirely foreign meal_ Kirk thought, _if color can be discounted. I hope this stuff isn't near as… spicy as the wine…_

McCoy knew his etiquette. The rule was, as he knew: until the host picked up his fork, you didn't touch a thing. They only had spoons, but the intent was the same. He was just itching to get at that little cup of water. One of the servers had come around with a tray of four glasses and served the Starfleet men first, no doubt because of their reaction to the wine.

He was about to do it, about to break etiquette because of the fierce burning in his throat. Kirk, Spock, and Scotty might have already had some. He didn't know. His focus was locked in on that little cup. There was a clink. Bellona lifted his spoon full of grain. As McCoy's hand twitched up from his side, another server appeared next to him with a condiment tray.

"Do not, please, drink the water."

The whisper was so low and quick, that McCoy thought he might have been imagining things. He looked at the server out of the corner of his eye. The man's face was impassive.

"Do not," his lips barely parted, "drink the water. For your own safety."

McCoy still did not turn his head at the obviously covert activity while the server placed small bowls on the table.

"I am Aulus' uncle. You are a good man among good men. Do not drink the water if you value your life."

Aulus' uncle vanished as soon as the last bowl left his tray. McCoy thought quickly. To cover any of the conversation that might have been observed, he grabbed the first little bowl he saw.

"Hey, Scotty, I heard _this_ is the good stuff." Scotty turned, and McCoy dished out a quantity onto the other man's plate. From the close proximity, he hissed "Don't drink the water."

Before waiting to see if Scotty understood the message, McCoy turned to his other side.

Spock brought the little glass back down from his lips and swallowed.

McCoy's mind was flying. He grabbed Spock's wrist, pulling it and the cup back to the table.

"Never mind that Spock." His gaze locked with the Vulcan's. "You've got to try this stuff. But _don't let Jim have any. He might become attached._" McCoy released Spock's arm and started spicing Spock's meat, knowing the Vulcan wouldn't be eating it. If the message didn't get across this way, he didn't know what would.

"Thank you, Doctor. I shall… endeavor to do so." Spock turned back to his meal, and McCoy could only hope he understood. Moments later, when Jim's diplomatic bravado wore off and he finally reached for the water, his hand jolted back suddenly. _Did Spock just- no! That wily Vulcan just kicked Jim under the table!_

Jim looked at Spock with an almost hurt expression. He was asking: _Do I really have to?_

"Captain. Doctor McCoy has brought to my attention a most interesting spice…"

McCoy sighed in relief and scooped up some of that purple stuff. If he couldn't drink the water, he might as well enjoy the meal. As he swallowed the grain, he remembered. _Spock._ McCoy had to keep up the appearance of normalcy. He shot a quick glance over at the Vulcan, who seemed perfectly fine. _Maybe whatever it is doesn't affect Vulcans. Yeah, that's probably it. Spock's always going on about his 'superior invulnerability'. He's tough. It's probably nothing._

McCoy continued eating. He checked on Scotty once during the meal, only to find that the Scotsman had developed a _taste_ for the Hephasten wine. McCoy rolled his eyes in exasperation. _Leave it to Scotty, resident connoisseur. Heaven help me, this mission might be my last!_ He looked around the table. All the other Senators, Varius included, seemed to be drinking only the wine. It was understandable, since Hephastens had this kind of stuff more often than humans. But, McCoy observed, not once did one of them touch their water glass. When Blandus Varius looked up and _caught him looking_, McCoy smiled and gestured to the dish. "It's delicious," he complimented with another grin. They looked away from each other. McCoy decided he was done with covert observation.

Something that was probably dessert was served after a while. McCoy was alarmed to find Spock fidgeting next to him. Spock just didn't do it. Never twiddled his fingers, never drummed his nails on a console, nothing. To find Spock twirling a spoon in his hand was cause for worry, so McCoy thought. _He's trying to occupy finer motor skills. I bet Spock's fighting whatever was in that drink. _If Spock had to show _outwardly_ that he was preoccupied, then something serious was occurring. Jim noticed too, and shot McCoy a worried look. The good doctor gave a quick shake of the head, and then smiled towards Jim's plate.

"It's good, right? I wonder if we can talk the recipe outta 'em?"

Jim's 'actor's smile' lit up his face. "Well, we can certainly try, Doctor. But, I doubt a secret this good is on display! It's probably closely guarded."

After that, they both shoved the gelatinous dessert around with their spoons. The meal was rapidly coming to an end. Kirk noticed an unusual silence had fallen over the room. He looked up from his scattered dessert. Gallus Bellona stood.

"Well, gentlemen, I suppose we had better disperse. It is getting rather late, and we have a long day ahead of us all." Everyone stood, and Scotty discreetly pulled his sheet over his arm in the way one would carry a coat. Kirk threw him a look, but didn't focus much on it. McCoy shifted nervously in place. Spock, to his credit, stayed perfectly still, despite his dire need to keep twiddling the cutlery.

The High Senate dismissed. Kirk made it to the door first, but was stopped by a voice.

"Captain, a word, if I may." It was Gallus Bellona. Kirk waved for McCoy and the others to wait outside. A Senatorial guard and Chief of Security Celcus Tacitus approached them from the hallway.

"Esteemed officers." The guard addressed them. "We will escort you back to your lodgings." Spock nodded once, and then took the lead. Scotty followed close behind him, with McCoy bringing up the rear. They marched down one hallway, turned, took another, and continued down a dim corridor. Their footsteps didn't echo off the softer flooring, so McCoy had no warning when he was grabbed from behind. He was pulled quickly into a darkened doorway. Adrenaline kicked in, and McCoy did his best to fight off his attacker. The assailant had McCoy's arms pinned, so there wasn't much he could do there.

"Stop!" A voice hissed. "Stop, Doctor! It is I, Aulus' uncle. You are all in grave danger." McCoy stopped struggling as this and another sound reached his ears. There was a scuffle and a thud in the hallway. He leaned forward to peek out into the hallway. Aulus' uncle allowed this, but kept a firm grip on McCoy's arms, in case the Doctor had any ideas about leaving. McCoy could see four figures moving further down the darkened hallway. One was the tall and obvious figure of Tacitus. He seemed to be grappling with a much shorter man. _Scotty, _McCoy's brain supplied when he saw the thicker arm. The other guard was kneeling over a prone figure _which could only be Spock!_ McCoy tensed and got ready to rush to the Vulcan's aid, but Aulus' uncle held him back.

"Do not go out there!" The Hephasten whispered. "You will surely be captured. Celcus Tacitus is a vicious warrior." McCoy had no other choice but watch as the fight went on. The sheet became Scotty's downfall, literally, as he stepped back and slipped on it. Tacitus was on him in an instant, delivering a stunning blow. The other guard had Spock slung over his shoulder already. Tacitus quickly hoisted Scotty.

"Where has the other one gone? The Doctor?" Spock's captor whispered.

"He is no doubt with the Captain." The gravely voice of Tacitus surprised McCoy. "It is no matter anyhow. We have what we came for. If it bothers you so much, send word to Summanus." The two men and their prisoners disappeared into a doorway. McCoy heard the tell-tale click of a lock. They were gone.

His own captor released him, and McCoy turned quickly. Aulus' uncle was a shorter man, perhaps an inch or two under Kirk's height. He had an open face and overall average look for a Hephasten. McCoy thought this man could easily blend into a crowd. Not, however, a Senate crowd. The server wore a light brown shirt and trousers, with a dark orange apron. He looked like the typical kitchen hand around here. Perhaps that made it easier for him to slip away undetected.

"I apologize for the rough treatment." He began. "It was the only way I knew to stop you."

McCoy sighed. "That's all right. What's going on here? Where'd they take Spock and Scotty?" His voice didn't rise above a whisper, but his tone conveyed a desperate frustration.

"I do not know, exactly." The server continued. "I only know that there is this plot within the Senate. You must send warning to your people." He began backing further into the doorway, beckoning for McCoy to follow.

"Ok. I'm not buying this." McCoy hissed as they traversed the dark room. "Who exactly are you, that you know about Senatorial plots an' all this cloak 'n dagger nonsense?" They came out in another dimly lit room. A few thick gray coats hung on the walls, along with thick scarves for facial protection against the elements. The server grabbed one of these and tossed it to McCoy.

"I am Horatius Valerius. It is my duty to protect you and your crewmen. Now, hurry! There is a storm. You will need this coat, and one of these." He handed McCoy a scarf.

"Horatius, huh?" McCoy cracked a smile as he struggled into the heavy coat. "All right. I can trust a good-honest name like that. What did you mean, 'your duty'?"

"It is my duty to oppose the Senate. They are corrupt, and serve an unjust Queen."

"Queen? I thought Hephaste I had Republics, not monarchies!"

Horatius chuckled dryly. "Is that what you were told? Well, Doctor, you should not believe anything you hear in Flagratus unless you can verify it yourself." He threw open another door. A violent gust of wind hurled sand and small debris into the little room.

"If that's true, then how can I trust anything _you_ say?" McCoy shouted over the wind.

"Because!" Horatius continued, "I saved your life! Now, GO!" He hustled McCoy out the door and into the storm. The sand hit like a rushing wall. McCoy stumbled, trying to get his bearings. He brought up a hand to cover his eyes. He squinted, blocking out most of the swirling sand. McCoy tried to remember the way back to the officers' lodgings. Uhura would be there, and M'Benga, Palmer, DeSalle! He braced himself against the wind and started moving forward. The sky was black and angry. A flash of yellow lightning lit up the city. McCoy recognized some alleyways from before. The lightning became more frequent. He ran.

The wind was roaring all around him, faster than before. It whipped the ends of his coat and pulled on his scarf. Still, McCoy hurried. He rounded another corner and saw a light up ahead. The awning of the hotel was visible in the soft glow. The rest of the building was obscured by the sand. His heart leapt, but the adrenaline high was wearing off. Those last few steps to the building were increasingly difficult. Finally, he reached the door. McCoy pounded as hard as he could to be heard over the storm. The door swung open more quickly than he could have hoped. A middle-aged Hephasten woman ushered him inside.

"Oh, Doctor! What a relief! I had thought you stranded at the Senate banquet, or else lost in the storm! I am Naenia Summanus, owner of this hotel." McCoy shrugged off his coat and loosened his scarf. He turned away and shook some sand from his hair.

"Well, I'm sure glad I made it back! Ma'am, I have to speak with the rest of my crew. Can you tell me which room-…" McCoy stopped. Something wasn't right. _Wait, Summanus?_

"How did you know I was a doctor? You hadn't seen my uniform, and we've never met before."

The statement was barely out before thin hands wrapped around his face. Everything went black.

/*\\

**A/N: I don't apologize for that cliffhanger, because it was AWESOME. On another note, this chapter is the inspiration for the cover artwork, so now everyone can finally stop wondering what the heck is going on there.**

**I'm going to do my very best to get another chapter up before the 21st, as that is my last day in town(or even with internet access!) until the 29th! I hope you enjoyed the reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

Scotty was growing more irritated by the minute. He had come to himself with a jolt, and found he was slung over that suspicious bodyguard's shoulder. The Chief Engineer quickly remedied that.

Now, he found himself being marched down a long corridor with a busted lip, sore ribcage, and a black eye. Not that he hadn't given as good as he'd got. Scotty smirked as he listened to the sound of Celcus Tacitus' uneven footsteps. There's nothing quite like a good old kick to the shins to even things out.

Scotty was still outnumbered two-to-one. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the limp body of Spock thrown over the other guard's shoulder. He thought back to the fight.

_They had all been walking down the hallway. Everything was fine until Spock collapsed. As Scotty had rushed to the Vulcan's side, he saw movement and barely had time to dodge Tacitus' strike. The Security Head and his assistant began to close in. Scotty raised his fists for a fight, but something in his stance must've changed Tacitus' mind. He waved his subordinate away. Scotty squared off with the giant Hephasten. Tacitus lunged. Ducking, Scotty managed to dodge the high attack and make a counter of his own. Tacitus seemed prepared for this. He brought his elbows down on the Chief Engineer's back. Scotty stumbled to the side and slipped on his fallen sheet. After that…_

Scotty was wrenched from his reverie by the sound of raised voices at the end of the hall. There was a wooden door left slightly ajar. As the pounding in his head began to fade, Scotty was able to make more sense of the heated conversation.

"_What have you done to them?"_ One voice shouted.

"That should not be one of your concerns. A clever man would have long since fit the pieces."

"Stop talking in riddles! I want a clear, honest answer. So help me, if you've hurt a single member of my crew-"

"Captain, your speech is foolishness, and you should know it. What threats can you make against me?"

Scotty's pulse quickened. _The Captain is in there!_ He realized. _We're definitely in a tight spot now…_ Tacitus was leading the little group towards the door, so the debate became clearer as they moved.

"Do you honestly believe that you can threaten, maim, or imprison a Federation crew, the crew of their _Flagship_ mind you, with _impunity?_" There was a danger in the Captain's tone that the other man was either unaware of, or ignoring.

"Without a doubt, Captain. Without a doubt. The High Monarch and all of the Councils have been preparing for this day, for this exact sequence of events, for over twenty years."

By this time, Scotty was just outside the door. Tacitus pushed him inside unceremoniously. Scotty stumbled in to find a long, low chamber dimly lit by some interesting fixtures. Pale orange light shone at a dim constancy from slits near the room's ceiling. This was reflected off of various shimmering tapestries draped on the walls. They depicted violent and sometimes volcanic scenes of destruction on all sides. Scotty slid to a stop on the sleek stone floor. It was constructed with green slabs of rock that were close to the polished consistency of marble. Most of the floor was covered in thick carpets unlike any that Scotty had ever seen. The woven masterpieces were made from a soft, yet reedy material and traced over in an iridescent red paint. At one end of the room, two Senatorial Guards flanked a plain wooden chair. Captain Kirk was its occupant. Across from his Captain, Scotty saw the bold High Senator- Gallus Bellona- standing in front of an ornate throne, caught mid-soliloquy.

"Ah," remarked Councilor Bellona at the interruption, "How kind of your crew to return."

"Scotty!" Kirk leapt up from his chair, but was pushed back down by the Senatorial Guards. His eyes flicked from the Chief Engineer to the doorway. Scotty glanced over his shoulder. Tacitus' minion was closing the door and locking it behind them. He finished his task and turned to face the room once again. The lolling head of Spock was revealed.

"Spock!" Kirk managed to bolt out of the guards' reach before they could lay hands on him. There was a fury in his eyes. Scotty understood the Captain's anger and reckless behavior, but he also understood the power behind numbers. Kirk made it halfway across the room. The instant the Captain had moved, Tacitus went on the attack. Meeting Kirk halfway, the Hephasten warrior, as Scotty was beginning to think of him, threw an astonishing punch. The Captain was floored. The less successful guards came quickly to collect their prisoner.

Gallus Bellona laughed. "My, what a valiant and futile effort, Captain. Reports of your impetuousness are not exaggerated!" Scotty watched, helpless, as his Captain was dragged back to Bellona. The Councilor made a dismissive gesture and Kirk was replaced into the chair. Another signal brought Scotty's little group towards the throne. Bellona did not sit, but stood and watched as his new prisoners were brought forward. He smirked at Scotty's battered appearance and Spock's total unresponsiveness.

Scotty was growing more uneasy by the second. He had realized a while ago that Spock must've sipped the water before McCoy's warning. What he could not figure out was the Doctor's current location. _Has he escaped? Where could he have gone to? Didn't that messenger say something about a storm? McCoy could be out there right now looking for help!_ It seemed that this possibility had occurred to Councilor Bellona as well.

"Optio Tacitus, report. Where is the other Starfleet Officer, the physician?"

Tacitus stepped forward and bowed to Bellona. "General. He was not with the others. Word has been sent to Summanus. She will have dispatched him by now." Cold claws of fear gripped Scotty's heart. He didn't know who this Summanus person was, but he didn't like the way Tacitus had said "dispatched". Another thought occurred to him and he, being the only coherent officer present, voiced it.

"'General'? I thought y'said y'were a High Senator or a Councilman or th' like."

General Bellona smirked again. "Well well. You might be as sharp as we have heard. Not terribly observant, but quick. If you had paid any attention in the city, you might have learned that the only things that you can trust in Flagratus are the things that you yourself can prove. I am First General Gallus Bellona of the Queen's United Armies. It is a pleasure to see a deception prove so effective." General Bellona paced back and forth before the empty throne. Scotty was beginning to understand. The strange decorations on Bellona's tunic, the skittishness of the other 'Councilors', and Blandus Varius' outright anxiousness; it all made sense. Scotty also came to the conclusion that if his Captain was still recovering, Spock was unconscious, and Doctor McCoy was… incapacitated, then he was the sole Commanding Officer available to try and remedy the situation. _Or at the very least, _he thought, _don' make it any worse!_

"So, General, are y' declarin' war on th' Federation? I dinnae reckon that's a very wise decision."

If Bellona was surprised by Scotty's question, then he did a very good job of covering it. The General stood still and studied Scotty from his position by the throne.

"I suppose a simple engineer would not know well the art of waging war, from a tactical standpoint, you understand. Though, I have heard reports that you are no simple Engineer. Your decorations provide evidence to that end."

"Aye. I'm the Chief Engineer of the Federation's flagship. I'd nae call that a position for a 'simple engineer'." Scotty's face was starting to color at Bellona's remark, but he remembered his circumstances. The ball was in Bellona's court. He could stand to play this out.

"True, true. My informants have provided evidence to that effect. Your men in red hold you and your Captain in the highest regard. As far as my reports go, departmental loyalty is strong throughout your ship. The crewmen in blue are divided, however, between your Medical and Science Officers. How curious your system is, that these departments are not better distinguished. Fortunately for us, it was easy to distinguish the members of your Command Staff. I sincerely hope they enjoy their isolated quarters."

Scotty held his tongue. He had seen how rash action had worked with the Captain. As much as he wanted to demand answers and resort to violence with this cocky general, Commander Scott tried a more diplomatic approach.

"I see. And what about the _Enterprise_? There's nothin' stoppin' her from launchin' a full-scale attack on the city."

"With her entire crew on the surface? That's hardly a clever threat."

"Ah, we never said anythin' about the _entire_ crew bein' sent down, now did we?"

General Bellona's eye twitched. Point: Scotty.

"I see. This development will have to be resolved. Ah! Your Captain awakes. He will have to be dealt with as well, for this deception."

"There was never a 'deception'!" Scotty shouted, but was ignored as General Bellona turned his attention to Captain Kirk. The Captain was blinking hard and trying to clear his head. He spotted Scott quickly, even in the dim lighting.

"Scotty? What happened? Feels like I got hit by a shuttle…" Bellona seized the opportunity and Captain Kirk by his collar.

"What is the meaning of your deception? Admittedly, it was shrewd…" Bellona dropped Kirk back into the chair. "Indeed… it was. I must applaud you for your foresight. Why trust anyone with the whole force… yes…"

Kirk was recovering quickly. "What deception, Bellona? I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Denying the facts will not help you, Captain. You hid your numbers from us. This, we did not plan for."

"Hid our numbers?" Kirk was genuinely confused. "We didn't hide anything. _You_ never asked."

Bellona's face went slack with shock. _Somethin's very wrong_, thought Scotty. A voice shook the General out of his trance.

"How unfortunate, General. This will prove a setback, I am sure of it." Without looking up, Bellona turned and threw himself prostrate onto the floor. The other guards and Tacitus bowed not quite so deeply. Scotty turned and stared. A tall, stately woman had entered the room unheard by all. He assumed there must be a door hidden behind one of the tapestries near the throne, because she certainly had not come from the only other entrance. The Hephasten woman walked with both grace and power. It was no large feat for Scotty to deduce she was the mysterious queen. She was dressed similarly to Bellona, wearing a green robe with gold embroidery. Instead of a blood-red sash, however, the queen wore an entire blood-red tunic of what Scotty supposed was the Hephasten equivalent of leather armor.

"Please, forgive me, Your Excellence. I have made a grievous error."

The queen seated herself, still towering over Bellona. "It is wise of you to not make excuses, General. It is very fortuitous that I have already anticipated this outcome. The Velites have already been deployed." She turned to examine the Captain. Maintaining a look of total disdain, the queen addressed Scotty.

"I am Laelia Avilius, High Queen of the Hephats, ruler of Flagratus, and Head the Hephat Empire. You are the Great Chief Engineer."

It wasn't a question.

"Aye, that I am."

"You bear the gauntlet of a warrior." Scotty tried not to gulp. He also ignored the Captain's pointed look. _So, the rumor succeeded on to the Hephastens… McCoy might be proud to know, but this makes things a wee bit difficult._

"Are y'well versed in Starfleet's commendation system?" It was a well put evasion. He didn't tell a bald-faced lie in front of the Captain, nor did he dissuade the Hephasten Queen of her assumptions.

"There has not been a Federation ship to visit here for some years. But, that is of no consequence when a vast spy network is making all the necessary research."

Captain Kirk could keep quiet no longer. "A spy network? We've come here on a mission of peace, and you've engaged in espionage? And who or what are these Velites that you've deployed? I demand to know has been done- _what is being done_- to my crew!" His eyes flicked to the floor where Spock was slumped, but returned to bore hard into the cold glare of the queen.

"How rude it is to interrupt." Queen Avilius said dispassionately. "You will be silent or you will be silenced. However, those are valid inquiries. If you do not mind…" She posed the question to Scotty. Shocked beyond words, he simply shook his head. _There is no protocol for this. There's no protocol, no how-to for monarchy-approved insubordination!_

"It is of the most simplicity, Captain." She continued in the same eerie tone. "As not all humans are psi-null, so too is the case with the Hephats." Kirk remembered Spock's cultural briefing and was not thrown.

"And what relevance does this have to your unprovoked attacks?"

Queen Avilius leveled a cool gaze at the Captain. "The spy network conducts its business by gathering information from unguarded thoughts. They do not make any intrusion, and therefore breach no rules of conduct. The Quaestionarius are composed of the telepaths at our disposal. They inquire on certain subjects and glean the true answer that springs into the individual's broadcasted thoughts. The same technique was employed on the crew of the _Doyle_. To answer your previous inquiries, your crew is being sorted and arranged in the manner that is most convenient for our plans. They are all contained in the bunker systems, besides the command staff you so kindly isolated at the house of Summanus."

"Who's this Summanus, and what has he done with my crew? I heard your man Tacitus say that he's harmed my Chief Medical Officer."

Both Starfleet men were shocked when General Bellona snorted. Even the Hephasten Queen found this statement amusing- responding only with a smug look.

"Our information was accurate, My Queen." Bellona said from the floor. "They truly are as predictable as you have suspected."

"What? Explain yourself! What's happened to McCoy?" Kirk almost shouted from his seat.

The queen fielded this question. "We have done extensive research on your ways and culture, Captain Kirk. We know your race and their allies better than you yourselves might. Articles and information stolen from the _Doyle's_ databases were most revealing. Every work, every record is steeped in the influence of your patriarchal society. We have used this to our advantage. True, for humans, it is not an inefficient lifestyle, but it is one you have grown accustomed to, one you simply _assume._ Naturally, as a product of this lifestyle, there are chinks in your armor. Your crew has been led into our trap by their blind trust in the archetype of the loving mother or grandmother. All of your crewmen have been captured by women of middle or advanced age. They have trained for many years to accommodate every aspect of this archetype. Each shall be awarded beautifully for their success. And your Medical Officer has been ensnared in just such a trap. _Naenia_ Summanus is one of our best agents."

Scotty and his Captain both stared at Queen Avilius. They were startled speechless by the complete success of the ambush. Finally, Scotty found his voice.

"So… what y're sayin' is, y've been waitin' all this time for a disaster big enough to lure in a Federation ship?"

Captain Kirk was shocked by the question out of left field, but Queen Avilius seemed impressed. "That is an astute observation, Chief Engineer. No, we have instigated the earthquake. The seismic activity was begun when we were assured of the flagship's assignment to respond. Indeed, the timing had to be perfect, or a ship of lower stature could have been dispatched."

"Hold on just a wee bit." Scotty cut in. "Are y'sayin' y'caused these earthquakes?" Before she could answer, everything clicked and Scotty's eyes snapped wide open. "Twenty years! Th' geological report claims that Hephaste I has a history of volcanic activity, but no earthquakes or any seismic events until aboot twenty years ago! Cap'n, d'y'see th' significance?" He was becoming less intelligible as he went on, but Kirk was hanging onto every word. The Hephastens had been planning this ambush for _twenty years_ and were ruthless enough to turn their terrible device on their own people!

"Tha' also means…" Scotty continued. His face clouded over suddenly. Kirk could almost see the gears turning in his Chief Engineer's mind. Without warning, Scotty snapped.

"Hou dis it work?" He growled.

Queen Avilius' eyes sparkled. "I see you have much of it figured out. Very well. I shall give you the last of the information." The queen crossed her legs and lounged back on her throne. She finally waved General Bellona off, allowing him to rise once more from the floor. He took up a position to the left of the throne, grinning evilly at the Starfleet men.

"The machine has been in production since before the time of my direct predecessor, King Cardia the Swift Conqueror. The inner workings of the device are a closely guarded secret, but I will give you an accurate description of its capabilities. The machine is roughly the size of one of your shuttlecraft and utilizes an experimental type of electromagnetic wave to disrupt matter either at close range and great impact, or over long distances with a more… concentrated objective."

By the end of the queen's speech, Scotty was livid. Kirk watched as both of his fists clenched, knuckles white. Queen Avilius' meaning was lost on the Captain. He honestly had no idea what could make his usually easygoing engineer so enraged.

"_Hou dare ye!"_ Was Scotty's response. He lunged, but Optio Tacitus pinned him firmly in an instant. Scotty did not advance, but Kirk was stunned. Something in Scotty's tone… It was unlike any earlier outburst, even compared to that incident with the Klingon crew's unfortunate descriptions of the _Enterprise._

"It is no longer of consequence." The queen replied, unfazed. "However, the more immediate concern, General, is how we are to finish our final tests." She turned an expectant gaze on Bellona.

"We may send these two. After all, the Quaestionarius did not achieve complete consistency in their surveys. The Walk of the Condemned would put any final questions to rest."

Kirk's attention moved quickly to the conversation. "Walk of the Condemned? Don't be too offended if we refuse." It wasn't terribly clever, but Kirk was so thrown by Scotty's outburst, that he could hardly spare the extra synapses to fire on all cylinders.

"It should be regarded as an honor, Captain Kirk." General Bellona responded. "Based on the Quaestionarius' reports, we are sending the two cleverest of your men into the Great Forge, the largest volcano on our planet. You and your Warrior Engineer will traverse the Walk of the Condemned- a system of natural tunnels that mean certain death to all but the strongest or most brilliant of warriors. By this, we will know the strengths and failings of your kind to a greater extent."

"Ach! Then ye've condemned me t'death!" Scotty suddenly called from the center of the room. He was still trapped by Tacitus, but managed a bitter sneer towards the Queen and the General.

"Explain." Queen Avilius said with some interest.

"Aye, Ah'd love to!" Scott bellowed. "If y're sendin' me inta th' volcano wi' just my Captain… Well, Ah'd say y're spies got some bad Intel aboot who th' cleverest ones on the ship were."

Kirk started, and then scowled. He ignored Bellona's smug look and instead focused on Scotty. _First, angry outbursts, now insults? I've never known Scotty to act anything like this, even in the face of certain death!_

"Commander Scott, what is the meaning of this?"

Scotty turned to the Captain with a look of contempt. "Well, forgive me, Captain, if Ah tell 'em the truth by sayin' y're nae much cleverer than a green ensign when it comes t'anythin' other than destroyin' mah ship!"

"Your ship?" Kirk couldn't help the flare of anger that rose up as the speech moved closer to mutiny.

"Aye, tha' it is! More so than it is yers, tha' Ah can say wi' certainty."

Kirk rose to his feet, clenching his fists. This was unacceptable, especially now, when they were all but being sentenced to death. Kirk didn't notice that Queen Avilius had waved off the restraining guards. They let him loose.

"In fact, Ah'd rather take Mr. Spock- _as is_- on th' bloody Walk than go with ye, _Captain._ He was certainly more reliable during th' incident with th' Romulan Commander! Ah was pure surprised tha' ye put off cripplin' the ship as long as ye did!"

Suddenly the red cloud cleared and Kirk understood everything. Well, not everything, but he had finally figured out his Engineer's ploy. _Scotty _wants_ to take Spock into the volcano, not me. But why? He's figured out something about Avilius' plan, I'd bet, but he can't tell me anything without tipping them off. Best just play this out._

"Why you mutinous, cowardly, insubordinate little-!" Kirk launched into a tirade but was cut off by Queen Avilius.

"Truly, Chief Engineer, you would rather take the Science Officer? The Quaestionarius relayed reports of the Vulcan's intelligence, but the stronger vote of confidence went to the Captain's wit."

Scotty scoffed. "Of _course_ it would. Th' flagship's got to be run on absolute loyalty. It's engrained in 'em, after all th' close shaves an' tight spots tha' _Ah_ worked us outta! Th' Captain took credit for th' hard work done by me an' Mr. Spock!" He took another look at Spock, who still lay motionless on the floor. "But, if Ah'm gonna do th' journey, Ah would prefer a _conscious_ companion. It'd be marginally better than takin' th' Captain, Ah suppose."

Kirk found an appropriate opening and lunged, but was held back by the guards this time. _Good. I didn't want to get in a fist-fight with Scotty. If he's definitely going to make the Walk, then he'll need all of his strength._

Queen Avilius nodded. "Very well. We shall restore the Science Officer to his full strength. General, send for the antidote and a progress report from the Velites. Perhaps it would be more beneficial to learn the limits of Vulcans as well." She turned back to Scotty. "It was not a fatal concoction. If you had all consumed it as planned, then you would have been rendered unconscious long enough for us to move you to a secondary detainment center." Seconds later, a servant hurried into the room with a tray and a vial. Tacitus released Scotty, took the vial, and administered the antidote to Spock.

"It will take some time to reach full effectiveness. In the meantime, you will both be transported to the center of the Forge by way of the Warrior's tunnel." There was a predatory look in her eyes. She addressed Bellona without removing her gaze from the Captain. "General, have Captain Kirk taken to Summanus. I believe he will wish to be reunited with his missing Medical Officer."

The cold way in which she delivered her commands made Scotty's breath hitch, but he covered the involuntary action with a gruff chuckle. "This Walk seems like a challenge worthy of a true warrior." He flexed his gloved hand for emphasis, doing whatever bizarre thing popped into his mind in hopes that he could continue fooling the Hephasten Queen and buy them some time. "Ah'd say Ah'm eager to begin."

Queen Avilius actually managed a small smile. Her eyes twinkled with sinister purpose.

"Excellent, Chief Engineer. Perhaps, if you survive, you could prove yourself in more _useful_ ways."

Scotty fought his growing disgust and managed his best 'evil grin'.

"Ah look forward to it."

/*\\

Christine Chapel was very _very_ glad she had changed into her dress uniform like everyone else. On the off chance that a Hephasten diplomatic group wanted a tour of the _Enterprise_, the remaining crew had been advised to change into the same uniforms as everyone else. Chapel had been especially glad for this measure when she received a distress call from the transporter room. Mr. Kyle's request for aid had been cut off. Nurse Chapel didn't know what kind of aid he required, so she had brought a medkit and a phaser just in case.

It was a good thing, too, because she had to repel boarders.

What she only assumed must be Hephasten infantrymen were pouring out of the transporter room five at a time, almost faster than she and the few other first-responders could handle. During one of the lags, Chapel saw a figure clad not in green and orange but _Command Yellow_ stumble out of the sliding doors.

"Hold your fire!" She called from behind the impromptu base of operations they had set up behind the blind corner. Risking quite a lot, Chapel hurried over to the crewman who was doubled over just outside the door. She reached his side quickly and helped the man to his feet. Chapel was rather surprised to find herself half-carrying the _Enterprise's_ navigator down the corridor.

"Chekov?" She gasped once they were safe again behind the wall. The Ensign was bleeding out of several cuts and lacerations on his face and arms. It looked like someone had run him through an old-fashioned paper shredder. "Chekov, Ensign, look at me." Chapel's training kicked in and she began checking him for more serious injuries while she snapped at one of the medical team for a tricorder. Instrument in hand, Chapel was able to confirm her preliminary diagnosis- concussion, minor lacerations ranging up to shallow cuts, no broken limbs- and make sure that there were no internal injuries. Once she was sure the ensign was out of danger, Chapel tried shaking his shoulders gently. She needed him responsive and fast. Chekov had been the only crewmember to beam back up or return to the ship at all since the beginning of the mission. Sure, the _Enterprise _had received regular reports all day with the corresponding radio silence towards night time. Chapel had heard from somebody that there was a pretty big sandstorm going on down on the planet's surface, but it was apparently just weak enough to allow transports and communications clearly. The appearance of armed Hephastens in the transporter room shattered the illusion of normalcy. Christine didn't know what was happening down on Hepheste I's surface, but Chekov did. She need answers. Soon.

"Come on, Ensign. _Pavel Andrevich Chekov! We're receiving diplomats from the Kremlin!_" Chapel honestly didn't know what would rouse the little Russian ensign, but she figured that was the best she had, and it had better work. _Thank my lucky stars, he's coming around._ Chekov stirred. He started shaking his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Chapel dug around in her medkit for a useful hypo or _something_ that would help her out. Chekov didn't have any internal injuries, but he hadn't had a tox-screen done yet. Chapel didn't feel safe injecting him with anything before knowing what, if anything, Chekov had been given on the planet. _Who knows?_ She considered. _He may have been drugged in order to get him to cooperate, or sedated enough to be transported without a fuss. Giving him something, even a stimulant, could be disastrous without full knowledge of his condition. Oh well. I'll get answers soon enough._

Chekov blinked rapidly. "Nurse Chapel?" He began uncertainly.

"Yep. You're not experiencing any memory loss. Good. How are you feeling? Can you tell me what's going on down there? "

Chekov reached up and rubbed the back of his head. "I will try, Nurse. Ze crews went down and ewerything was going just fine until we were attacked! Ze Hephasten soldiers herded eweryone into ze bunker system and separated ze higher officers from ze ensigns. I have not seen ze Keptin, Meester Spock, or Doctor McCoy since we were captured."

Chapel took all this in quickly and glanced around the corner. The flow of Hephasten soldiers seemed to have stopped, if only briefly. She turned back to Chekov.

"Alright. Tell me what happened to you, and anything you can about what they're planning. Why are the Hephastens attacking us? I thought they requested aid!"

"It is like you say, zhey requested ze aid and zhen turned on us once night fell. Ze leaders needed someone to open a channel to ze _Enterprise_ without arousing suspicion. Zhey chose me and threatened to kill ze ranking officers one by one until I complied." Chekov looked a little ashamed as he told his tale. Chapel listened intently, all the while checking both the hallway and the ensign for signs of change. Chekov continued. "Needless to say, I did. Once zhey established a connection with Meester Kyle in ze transporter room, zhey hacked in with the ground systems and began transporting troops onboard. Zhey can only transport in groups of five, and zhen only twenty before ze system has too cool down. Wery inefficient, if you ask me. When ze last group was about to beam, I pushed one of zhem out of the way and took his spot during the beam-up. So, here I am."

As Chekov began wrapping up his story, Christine began wrapping up Chekov. She had a few bandages on hand since the dermal regenerators were all back in Sickbay. She figured it would be better to get these cuts cleaned and bandaged before she had to move Chekov anywhere or start fighting off Hephasten ground troops again. It was a quick task and she finished in just a few moments.

"We need a plan. We can't just let the Hephasten troops storm the _Enterprise, _even if they do have most of the crew. There's got to be something." Chapel helped Chekov to his feet. The rest of the defending crew had taken the opportunity to alert the remaining Security officers. Red shirts were starting to pour in from the other decks, reorganizing and replacing the medical team. Compliments were given and accepted on the first responders' efficient defense of the hallway. Not a single Hephasten soldier had reached the turbolift un-stunned. While the calm still lasted, Chapel remembered Lieutenant Kyle's distress call.

"Morris, Page, with me! We've got casualties in the transporter room! _Go!_" The three nurses rushed through the sliding doors. What they saw left them quite stunned. Five Hephasten soldiers lay unconscious on the ground surrounding the transporter pad. A sixth was slumped over by the control station. Face-down on the floor next to him, lay Lieutenant Kyle. Chapel and her nurses were by his side in an instant. Morris turned the lieutenant over while Page checked vitals and Chapel readied hypos.

"He's alive!" Page declared quickly. Morris confirmed with a manual pulse reading and the noted rise-and-fall of Kyle's chest.

"Injuries?" Chapel asked while she loaded a stimulant.

"He's got a severe concussion, bruised ribs, a fractured wrist, and tracheal damage. Looks like he put up quite a fight before they got him." Page spouted off the injuries and turned a deductive eye to the circumstances. "Looks like two of 'em rushed him behind the console. One of 'em ended up on the wrong end of Kyle's phaser, while the other pressed his advantage." Page recreated the scene with rapid-fire analysis. "Came up quick and pushed him into the wall with one of those odd looking phaser rifles." Page indicated one of the fallen weapons. It had an extra long barrel with a lumpy power cell crowded up on the trigger end. "It'd be pretty easy to pin him, what with the long barrel. My guess is, Kyle tried a block as the rifle came down hard and, voila, fractured wrist. Rib damage likely resulted from initial attacks- the soldier punched or kicked or elbowed him or something' to get him to back off, but Kyle kept going. Next, the guy slams him up against the wall, still rifle-to-neck, hard enough to both knock him out and give him the windpipe injuries."

Page finished the conclusion with a nod of approval from Chapel. The whole thing took less than a minute. Morris and Chapel got on either side of the downed lieutenant and lifted him. Kyle was no featherweight, but between the two of them, they managed to get him out of the room. As the door was sliding shut, Christine thought she heard the familiar whir of a beam-up.

"They're coming! _RUN!"_ Chapel, Morris and Page picked up the pace. "Go! Go! Go!" They rounded the corner. Security men were poised and ready to defend their ship. "Chekov! With me!" Chapel barked at the lounging ensign. To his credit, the navigator leapt up and once and raced down the hall after the last of the first-responders.

"Where are we going, Nurse Chapel?" Chekov asked.

The doors to the turbolift closed on the five of them. Chapel and Morris were breathing hard.

"Sickbay." Chapel panted. "And after that, the bridge. We've got a war to stop."

**A/N: What fun! ;)**

**Reviews and critiques are always welcome.**


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